Tuesday, October 28, 2014

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.


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

The Suicide Club | The Grief Toolbox



Saturday, October 25, 2014

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


Friday, October 24, 2014

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

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

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

Monday, October 13, 2014

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

Sunday, October 12, 2014

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




Saturday, October 11, 2014

Kamikazeing It

You've heard of the Japanese kamikaze pilots of World War 11 and their legendary bravery. How they sacrificed their lives in suicide attacks by flying straight into enemy planes and warships? At the time, the enemy was America, and they so believed in the cause of defending Japan that pilots on kamikaze missions knew before they strapped on their helmets and scooted into their cockpits that they would not be coming home; they would never be seeing their wives and children again, and they would never know whether Japan would win the war. They didn't let themselves think about any of that. They didn't allow themselves the luxury of thinking of themselves. The tradition of death instead of defeat was deeply entrenched in Japanese military culture. The Samurai warriors had a tradition known as hari-cari, in which the defeated warrior would fall on his sword before the enemy could take his life. They had, in sociological terms, a "macro" orientation vs. a "micro." What I mean is that the needs of the group outweighed the wants of the individual. This is what in sociology is known as a Collectivist perspective.

Here in the U.S. we don't see things the same way. We are an Individualistic society-John Wayne rugged individualists, with Frank Sinatra crooning, "I Did It My Way" in the background. The average American doesn't readily understand sacrificing themselves for a larger cause. If we do volunteer, we have to be "talked into it" because we were raised in a culture where there is an undeniable "every man for himself" attitude. Not to say we don't care about one another-we do. And families often stick together here in America just as they do in Collectivist cultures. However, I don't think American military pilots would volunteer to go down in flames on purpose. I'm not making any sort of a judgment here on whether one culture is better than another. I'm simply pointing out a cultural difference, seen clearly in the kamikaze pilot's choice to sacrifice their lives for a larger cause. What intrigues me about the Japanese people is while their culture was bound by strict rules of polite social etiquette and rich historical traditions, they were at the same time fierce fighters-the Shoguns, Samurai and kamikazes being examples of this.

I've always loved the Japanese people. When I was in High School we had a Japanese exchange student who stayed for about a week with us. What I remember most about Mitsuki was how ultra-polite she was, and how grateful she was for every little thing we did for her. I remember she was crazy for hamburgers. She thought it was amusing, giggling often when I'd frankly speak out as American teenagers do. I also remember noting how different our cultures were. I liked Mitsumi, even though she seemed extremely shy, and she and I exchanged letters for a few months after she'd returned to Japan. I wondered what Mitsumi said to her parents about my family and the brash American culture after she'd returned home. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. I bet she also commented on how different our cultures were (only very politely).

I made the off-hand remark today to my publisher that I was going to "kamikaze it" all the way with my newest book, Once The Storm Is Over. What I meant was that I'm pulling out all the stops-that I was willing to do whatever it took to make it a success. I'm sure she understood what I meant. But then I really got to thinking about what I'd said. Was I really willing to kamikaze it? It sounds brave to say it, but to do it is a whole different thing. I chuckled at myself. A 50-year-old counselor swearing to be a kamikaze-what a ludicrous idea! But isn't there something in all of us that yearns, just once in our lives, to be courageous and fearless for a cause? Isn't that what the Superman and Spiderman hero worship is all about? Isn't that why my brother and his son take martial art lessons when in truth they wouldn't hurt a fly? I believe we do these things because there's something in every one of us, regardless of our culture, that keeps ripping our shirts off to expose the big "S" on our chests. There's something in the human spirit which urges us to be bigger, pushing us to take a stand for something-to be a hero, if only in a quiet way...like the Japanese kamikaze.

Saying I'm going to live like a kamikaze is a lot to live up to. It means I'm not going to whine and complain, and I'm not going to feel sorry for myself (which I really like doing). When I feel afraid, I'm going to have face that insecure part of me, and "suck it up." Most of all it means I'm going to be whole-heartedly courageous and ask for what I want from life. Not many of us do that. We wind up "dummying down" so others won't judge us, and "avoiding the limelight" so we're not the object of criticism. We make excuses for why we don't live full-throttle, and even while we criticize those who do, we secretly admire them for their chutzpah. Being a modern-day kamikaze means throwing caution to the wind; being willing to reach and risk for what I want, even if in the end I might crash and burn. That's the chance you take if you want to be a kamikaze.

The word kamikaze means, "spirit wind." I suppose that's what the kamikaze's had to find within themselves if they were going to walk into the fire and never return: the wind of the Spirit, giving them enough courage to defy their fear. All of us are a little like the kamikazes, who came into this world to show one another a breathtaking kind of courage, and to defy our fears. If we live life in this way, we may crash and burn, but nobody will be able to say about us that we didn't live whole-heartedly. And isn't that what legends are made of? You crazy kamikaze, you.

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






The Place Inside Yourself Where Nothing Is Impossible

IMPOSSIBLE is not a word I'm willing to accept anymore. I've kicked it out of my vocabulary. I've learned there is no power above or beside me, behind or below me, that is more powerful than the love inside me. This is not a time for fear in my life. This is a time for faith, and determination. Faith in a voice that I once hushed up due to shame, and determination to tell my story, so people will stop dying by suicide, and their families will stop weeping brokenhearted beside their graves. I found my voice again. Now the world needs you to find yours, too.

I may not know you personally-but I know without meeting you that you have the soul of a champion. And because you're a champion, if I could sit with you I'd offer this advice: Hold onto the dreams you hide in your heart. Your dreams are the hope for a better future for us all. If you give up on those dreams, you've given up on all the rest of us, and the world desperately needs you not to do that. 


Don't lose your vision yet, because there is a place inside yourself where nothing is impossible (Deepak Choprah). No matter how young or how old you are, you carry around this box and one glorious day you might get sick of carrying it around, and just decide you're going to open it. In order to open it, you'll have to be willing do a few things that most people aren't willing to do. I didn't say couldn't do-I said not WILLING to do. Here's 5 things that will unlock your box:


1. You're going to have to let go of your agenda.--Your agenda is what you made up along the way because you didn't know what else to do with your life. Up to this point you've done everything you knew to do to make the most of your life. But if there's something in you telling you that you could be much more, then you haven't opened the box wide enough. Often it's our own contrived agendas that get in the way of who we were meant to be. Stop trying so hard to play a role, and just be YOU. I know that sounds strange. But when I stopped trying so hard to be a counselor and just started being Nina, my life unlocked. 


2. You're going to have to keep it real.--Probably the #1 impediment to growth is the facade we were taught to wear. The masks are going to have to come off. You're going to have to get real with yourself first, and honestly will flow from there. 


3. You're going to have to cultivate openness.--Are you willing to learn from an idiot, or to look like one? Author Danielle LaPort says in her blog article, On Idiots and Cultivating Openness: "The truth is everywhere. Sometimes hiding in plain sight, or beneath presumptions and labels – whether you agree or not." 


4. You're going to have to be outgoing.--This may rankle my introverted friends. But before you change the channel, you might be surprised to find that I consider myself an introvert. I enjoy spending time alone more than I do spending time with company. And my battery recharges when I'm alone vs. getting charged by being around others. Those are classic symptoms of an introvert (writers are very often introverts who would rather let the pen speak for them). There are ways of being outgoing that don't include being the "party girl." Think of the word for a minute: out-going. In other words, you have to be willing to put yourself out there by making your voice heard and expressing yourself.


5. You're going to have to believe in yourself.--For most of us, this is where the rubber meets the road and the tires fall off our car. When you've had a string of losses it's real difficult to keep telling yourself (and other people) that you're making a comeback. But I'd like to share with you a secret I found that's a game-changer: everybody likes rooting for an underdog. Other people relate to failure, because they've experienced a whole heap of it themselves. So when you're willing to get real about your failures (rule #2), you'll find people opening up about theirs. It's not what the media tells us to do-that's why this sounds counter-intuitive. But I've found in real life, people relate more to your failures than to your triumphs. You don't have to be perfect to believe in yourself. Just believe in your potential. Because I do (believe in you). Others will too, as soon as you realize that your past doesn't have to determine your present. Release your grip on failure. Learn from it, but don't get mired in it. You're more than a set of outdated circumstances. 
The place inside yourself where nothing is impossible is closer than you think. It's not a matter of can you unlock your dreams, but WILL you? 

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


  

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Why You Purchased a Ticket on the USS Titanic

I was raised in the church. I was made to go three times a week until I moved out of the house at age 21. I would eagerly sit in the front row; in fact, we used to get there early so we could cozy up to the pastor and the choir. I knew the Bible, inside and out; still do! From the time I was "saved" in the Christian church at the tender and trusting age of 11, when I felt this funny, incredible stirring in my heart that I could only faintly define as "the Holy Spirit," I have been thirsty for the truth. At 50-something years old, I can honesty say I've found the truth. But it was hidden in a place I didn't expect it to be, and it was MUCH harder to find than was promised. Since my first spiritual yearnings as a child, my life has taken a billion twists and turns. It's been like riding a runaway roller coaster-I've felt mostly like I've been trapped on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Although I've tried hard to maintain a cool and calm façade, the honest truth is: it's been a hair-raising experience, and more painful than I ever imagined it could be.

The church didn't really prepare me for all this. It promised that if I prayed and trusted my friend Jesus, I'd sail through my "trials," growing stronger as the wind buffeted me, and able to bound up mountains like a robo-billy goat. As I said, reality has been a little different, because the "storms" turned into typhoons, and the "mountains" turned into fire-spewing volcanoes! But church did teach me one thing that stuck with me, and I think they got this right: God is in control. Which means by default that it is God who has allowed the hair raising twists and turns, and God who knows about all the destruction I've weathered...the typhoon, the volcano, and all the PAIN. If God is omniscient, it means God has seen the thousands of bitter tears I've shed for my teen aged daughter who committed suicide is 2013-thousands of tears! Buckets of tears, leaving me empty-handed, bereft, and at first, wanting to spit in God's face. And yet today I can say with a clean, clear and open heart that I believe God is still in control, and I'm truly at peace with that. I can say God's in control with such surety because I'm certainly not in control, and you're certainly not! And in the sum of it, at the end of all my trials, even though it was hell and I thought I'd never get through it in one piece, here I stand, healed, and ready to extend a helping hand, and pull to safety other half-drowned wayfarers. I've come to the conclusion that since I'm most definitely NOT in control, that some force way bigger and smarter than I am must be at the helm of this ship. And if I were to guess, I'd say that you and I happened to have boarded none other than the USS Titanic, and it's going to be a very exciting and frightening ride until the very end. Yes maam and yes sir-you and I purchased tickets to the only ship that's headed straight to the bottom of the ocean! Aren't we the lucky ones?

To put this into perspective, I believe there's a method to what seems like madness. Author of, "The Fun of Dying," Roberta Grimes, believes there's a great mystery working behind the scenes of life's trials, too. Roberta refers to all the events that happen to us, both good and bad, as life's "Lesson Plan" that we wrote before we were born. Psychic and author Sylvia Browne referred to them as our Life Charts. I like to think of them as our Life's Blueprint. We three authors agree on this point: that we come into this life with a set of unconscious blueprints. We're not consciously aware of them-we can't remember what we agreed to, or why we wrote it the way we did. We three ladies also agree that these blueprints were uniquely designed by and for each one of us, BY US. Yes, you heard that right. Before we were born, we designed these blueprints, and our souls carried them into life for our evolution. Why else would we be here? We're not here simply to enjoy the view from the captain's deck, or to load up at the sumptuous all-you-can-eat buffet, or to wear that killer flashy dress and matching heels to dinner (sorry to burst your bubble). We are actually on the USS Titanic for the express purpose of HITTING THE ICEBURG. Trying to deny this harsh reality is like running around rearranging the deck chairs.You can rearrange the chairs all you want, but you're still going down! While we didn't come in with a predestination (we have a free will), and we weren't pre-programmed (we don't have to follow instincts the way animals do), we did come here with an obstacle course of challenges laid out before us, and even the most profoundly negative events are written in so we can learn from them.

Sometimes we learn what we need to learn, and sometimes we don't. If we don't, we'll have to repeat the lesson. This is where Sylvia Browne says a Life Theme comes into play. She believes each one of us also has a theme that keeps getting replayed until we learn it, and I'm beginning to think Sylvia's right about this too. At least I've figured out my theme. It was brilliant Anais Nin that phrased it so concisely: "You can't save anyone, you can only love them." That's mine. How do I know that's my theme? Because I've had to learn this one excruciating lesson all my life. And if I were to wager a bet, I'll have to learn it again at some point. Have you noticed themes in your life? Problems that seem to repeat, just with different variations which come disguised behind different faces? The people who have taught us the most soul-changing lessons are our soul mates. We've heard that soul mates are blissful connections, and I believe we have those kinds of soul mate connections. I also believe the people we've learned the most from usually deliver painful lessons. I refer to my daughter who passed away as my soul mate in my book, Once The Storm Is Over, because losing her to suicide taught me more about love and forgiveness than anything else ever will; I've grown tremendously as a result. Would I ever want to give the gift of grief to anyone else? Nope, I wouldn't want you to have to go through that kind of pain. I'd want you to learn your lesson while you still had the chance.

So while in one way it really sucks that we happen to have chosen the Titanic (because the water is frigid, I don't like sharks, and in the end I'm ganna drown), suffering is the only method by which the Universe has found that a human soul can evolve (should I repeat that-because it's really important). Being incarnated in a body is actually a gift, because we are rapidly perfecting ourselves. We are perfecting much more rapidly than the souls without a body. If you look at it that way, the Titanic becomes the Love Boat, because it's the only ship where you can work out your karma this quickly. Earth is the express planet where your soul grows up exceptionally fast (I've always been in a big hurry). You might be wondering what we're here to learn. I think we board the Titanic to learn two things: how to love, and the importance of forgiveness. We learn these lessons throughout our whole lives in many different ways. I've heard it said that most of us only change when it hurts bad enough, and my experience as a counselor has shown me that this is a truism. My clients seem to make the biggest changes when it hurts bad enough. So the next time somebody suggests you should try a cruise for your next vacation, smile big, and ask if they happen to know the name of the particular ship? If it's the USS Titanic, you're headed for a chilling conclusion. But smile, because God is in control.

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

The Forrest Gump of Suicide Prevention-Meet Ireland's Colm Farrel

Colm Farrel (his friends call him Haz, as in “Hazard”) is the Forrest Gump of Suicide Prevention. You've probably never heard of him because like Forrest Gump, Colm's a simple guy in a small town with a big heart who follows his instincts, doing the right thing when it needs to be done, without having to be asked, without applause. Like Forrest, Colm's easy-going, with a big, courageous heart the size of Ireland. He'd give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. Four years ago, Colm found out second-hand that a good friend had committed suicide not long after he'd last talked with him. At the time, Colm didn't know much about suicide, and although he knew his friend was down and had mentioned dying, Colm thought it was the passing comment of a discouraged man. "He was wealthy, and had a wonderful wife and children-he had everything to live for." Now he wished he had said something that would have made a difference. "If I knew then what I know now, I would have asked if he was feeling suicidal," he says. Like Colm, I too wish and regret that I didn't say and do more to prevent my 15-year old daughter from taking her life as the result of severe depression. Feelings of guilt and regret are the most common theme shared by suicide survivors.

To make matters worse, just two weeks later, another close friend gave up and took his own life. That's when Colm decided he had to do something to stop Ireland's high suicide rate. "There are 1,200 suicides a year in Ireland," Colm explained. "On a small Isle of 4.5 million people, that's a big problem. Plus 50% of suicides are recorded as death due to other reasons. One has to wonder if it's a bit of a cover-up." He got out a map, and began circling counties. The first time Colm set off by himself was in May of 2011, with only a "rucksack" on his back, and a few dollars in his pocket. He walked half of Ireland. He had to leave his family behind-two older sons, and his teen daughter, which he said was the hardest thing he's ever done. "My 13 year old daughter walked the first few miles with me, then I was on my own." With no sponsors, and only his Facebook friends to cheer him on, he didn't stop until he'd raised awareness about suicide, and people started donating money to the Irish national suicide prevention charity, Console. He walked 3,000 miles, naming his cause, "The Hazwalk." 

After he'd been back home awhile, a man in his town challenged him, saying, "If you were a true Irishman, you would have walked all of Ireland!" He decided right then, in November of 2011, to walk again-this time all 32 counties, which meant he'd be on the road for 150 days. "My daughter took it the hardest," he admits. "But it was something I just had to do."

When he returned home in March, thinner and exhausted, home never looked so good. "My daughter was so happy to see me, but things weren't the same. It was difficult." Colm figured that would be the end of his travels; he'd accomplished what he had set out to do. Life was quiet until 2013 when people in the United Kingdom, Ireland's neighboring country, heard about Colm. He received 106 Facebook messages, each promising they would donate money to his charity if he would walk all 86 counties in the UK. How could Forrest (I mean, Colm) resist?

On July 25, 2013, Ireland's Forrest Gump pulled on his walking shoes for the last time, shouldered his "rucksack," and started his 5,000 mile journey in Scotland. This time he had 66 pounds in his pocket. When he said goodbye to his daughter, there was a terrible lump in his throat. Still, the thought of his friend's deaths urged him on. "I was surprised to find that everywhere I went, people confessed to me that they'd felt depression, and had thought of suicide." Colm says 12,000 people die by suicide in the UK every year. "Suicide leaves a trail of destruction. I also heard stories from suicide survivors, and the hardships they endured. When I was missing home-my daughter and sons, I'd post on Facebook while I walked. My supporters kept me going. I couldn't let them down." He walked at least 15 miles a day, sometimes twenty plus, in every kind of harsh weather imaginable. When he was exhausted, lonely and felt like giving up, Colm says he coached himself. "I talked out loud to myself a lot," he admits (kind of like another Tom Hanks movie, Castaway, where he talks to his soccer ball for company). He endured many hardships-terribly painful shin splints: "Like a dagger," he says. And once a stranger threatened to find him and run him over with his car. Many nights he sat on the side of the road until 3am before someone offered him a place to stay. "It was my rule never, ever to ask anyone for housing. When I came into town, I just waited till someone offered me a room. Sometimes it was a close call, but I never broke that rule. And I never asked for a meal. People just fed me." When I asked Colm what was most memorable for him, he didn't recount the hardships. "This walk proved to me that there's so much good out there. I never once went hungry. And people were always donating a little money here and there, just enough to keep me going-strangers! The world is full of good people."

I asked Colm what waits on the horizon for him, now that he's kept the promise that he made to himself, to honor the memory of his friends by walking all of Ireland and the United Kingdom? "Who knows-maybe a book," he says with a grin in his voice. "I've got a lot more to say." I don't doubt for a minute that whatever Colm Farrel sets his mind to, he will do-just as Forrest did. Run, Colm, run!       

To contact Colm: Facebook www.facebook.com/Hazwalk or on twitter Colm Farrell @haz66

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




Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Why We Should Never Give Up On Life

How is possible that for some people, the most tragic of circumstances can cause them to become an unexpectedly optimistic person? The same question might be asked of a tree. How can a tree that's been charred unrecognizable by fire still find a way to send out shoots, and given enough time, eventually burst into the magnificence of a whole new tree? How can a flower, after the harshest of winters, push through the frigid tundra and bloom with the encouragement of just a few rays of sunshine? This is life-and life always finds a way; that's the beauty and majesty of life-it never gives up. More accurately, life never gives up on us. The bystander can't see the roots underground that nourish and sustain the tree and the flower. They only see the devastation of the fire or the impossibly hard ground. What they don't see is the hope waiting to burgeon just below the surface.

A year ago I would have bet you a million bucks that the exciting growth that is happening in my life today was absolutely impossible. When my teen daughter, severely depressed for 4 very long and turbulent years, finally gave in to her unrelenting depression and committed suicide in the next room as I slept, I would have told you in no uncertain terms that my life was ruined; certainly my career as a counselor was ruined, and that my heart was irreparable. In fact, here's a quote from my autobiographical book, "Once The Storm Is Over: From Grieving to Healing After the Suicide of My Daughter," taken directly from my diary: "I am ruined. Ruined like a woman whose unfaithful husband  leaves her out of his thoughts when he goes to be with his mistress. Her note said she was leaving to be with her father who had passed. That she missed him. Just like that. As if what I gave her, although imperfect, was wholly inadequate. Women of ruin let their hair go grey, letting the foolish and naïve dreams slip through their lifeless fingers, letting their surety go slack, letting life be not what they were told, but what they were left with. Who am I now? I am a saint burning sanctimoniously atop a pyre of unfortunate circumstances."

In 2013, my peaceful life came crashing to a gruesome end. The result? I was poisoned and blinded by anger, soaked in failure, and overwhelmed by soul-crushing grief. My deep blue skies and happily-ever-afters turned into a living nightmare. I thought of myself as a laughing stock; a colossal failure that others would point to and say: whatever you do, don't be like her. In short, I was bubbling over inside with self-hate and self-loathing, and there was no rescue; no escaping the truth: my smart, beautiful and tortured daughter would never be coming back. Everyday I blamed myself a little more-the shame was like drinking a little more arsenic every day. I wondered if I wouldn't just call it quits myself because death sure seemed more attractive than going on without her. I longed for her; I yearned to escape to the afterlife and find her. I would grab her and hold her, and somehow, someway make her see what she couldn't see because of the curtain of depression that had fallen over her eyes: that she was my darling, my everything, and that there would be no living without her. This deep hopelessness endured for a year.

Have you ever been hopeless, helpless, depressed? It runs in my family; I've battled it for decades now. It used to be much worse: when I was first diagnosed it was crippling. At one point I was living in the attic of my parent's home because I couldn't get out of bed long enough to get to a job or go to my college classes. I remember days so bad that I honestly didn't have the strength to brush my teeth or change my underwear. Depression forces you into this closet where it's just you and the darkness of your mind. No light can get in, and it wouldn't matter if there were a thousand caring people standing outside of that door-they couldn't get in because it's a hell only big enough for one. That's why whenever I'd knock on my daughter's bedroom door she wouldn't answer. It's not that she wanted to shut me out, and she didn't want to die the gruesome and terrifying way she did. She had been locked inside a dark closet with monsters for 4 years, and death seemed alluring and radiant compared to the terror of her own mind. I understand the dark closet, because until my doctors finally discovered the right anti-depressant for me, I lived in there for 10 years of my life, too.

Why didn't I give up? I had a daughter, and I went on for her. When you're depressed, the key to survival is to find one person to go on for. And if you're suffering depression and saying to yourself, there isn't one person in my life who cares-that's the same thing my daughter thought, too. The truth is, the closet door shuts out all the love people feel for you. It's not that they aren't standing outside the door loving you, because they are. It's the door-it's so thick, so sound-proof, that it blots out any light or love. What you've got to do is shove that heavy door open and scream for help as loud as you can. What's inside the door will tell you not to. It will tell you to keep your mouth shut, that nobody will understand, or worse, they'll think you're crazy. But if you listen to the monsters, if you don't yell for help, they will get you and steal your precious life. And even when you can't find a reason to go on, you're here for a reason. Lots of people haven't figured out why they're here, you're not alone. There are millions, even billions of people wrestling with these existential questions. But they don't give up because they've seen that life can change. Life always changes and it can get better. Remember what I said-life never gives up on you. Life never gives up believing in you-in your potential, in the unique contribution you are meant to give. Look at my life-it's been in shambles, in ruins more than once. I've been through the fire and I've been through the storm and I am still standing. Not only have I survived it, but I'll be damned! Today beauty is growing right where the devastation used to be.

The miracle of life is that while we give up on it, it never gives up on us. The best reason to go on is because life put you here-and that should tell you that you're here for a reason. Here's to life, and here's to you...and here's to never giving up.

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