RIP Simba Cat

My cat Simba died on November 5. My funny cat, my boy. I never met a cat with such a sense of humour, and we loved each other very much. It was unexpected…I’m not sure what happened, a neighbor found him. I couldn’t cry.

My husband cried, my daughter cried…I just took care of him, and felt empty when I went to bed.

Simba slept curled up behind my knees and thighs every night (thus the nickname, “Crotch”).

I would give him a kiss and pet every time I got out of bed, and sometimes he’d lick me and other times bite my nose (thus the nickname, “Bite-face”).

I have been having a hard time sleeping, missing his warmth, but I didn’t cry until I was alone with my other cat, Luna. Miss Lu is an aloof girl, but the other morning she uncharacteristically jumped up on the bed where I was laying, emotionally and physically paralyzed. She began meowing and snuggling and purring all over me. Oh boy, then I cried. Ugly-face, my-eyes-hurt cried.

Since then, I have been journaling about death. Moving back and forth between Reasonable Mind and Emotion Mind, the rational and the irrational. I am not unaware that death is a tricky concept. I have had an intimate awareness of death from a very early age, and I know that for me, experiencing death from violence and emotional illness had a specific impact on my value system and beliefs. 

Existentialism is a vast field of knowledge that addresses our conscious and unconscious awareness of death, and how this awareness influences individual and societal anxiety. Yet many people remain ignorant of death’s influence on their lives, until it is right up in their face with a personal loss. But death influences our emotions and choices more pervasively, in the everyday way we conduct ourselves, our value systems, and our attempts to understand, control or avoid death. Reflect for a moment on Covid. Enough said.

Working in mental health, and working through my own grief, I understand the pain associated with loss. I understand how it throws someone into Emotion Mind, which can distort perception, create rigid thinking and prevent discussion, connection and compassion.

I understand how that happens. I am currently in the “anger stage” of grief, feeling bitter, thinking “nobody understands, everybody is stupid and I hate them,” and having the urge to run away. I recognize that this is because I am grieving my cat, but also my brother Bruce, who died only ten months ago. And I miss Steve. And my mom and dad. This grief stirs the cumulative losses that have occurred in my life. I guess I’m reaching that stage of life where more and more loved ones have died, and the toll feels heavy. But staying in that anger stage is not healthy nor sustainable. 

I am trying to use the DBT model of mind and skills to cope effectively with my grief, so that I don’t implode or explode. First, I recognize that emotions skew perceptions, and I am trying to minimize lashing out (thanks to my best friend Jennifer, gently squashing the first draft of this blog which surely would have rained down justified judgment on me). Googling “how to deal with the anger stage of grief” made me want to throw my phone across the room. So I allow myself to be quiet, I hear the echo of what I often say to clients: “No one else has to understand. You understand. And you must give yourself compassion first.” I recognize this as Wise Mind, the part of me where compassion lives. I draw deep to remind myself of the belief system which I worked so hard to develop, and I say to myself: 

“if you choose to live, then live the way you choose. If I am only alive for this short period of time on this earth, then I choose to live in love and joy. Love means vulnerability and risk. Love means I will lose and I will hurt. I choose to believe that it’s worth it.”

My time with you was worth it, Simba Cat. Rest in peace.

Reflections on Anger

In the past two months I've had two random incidents where I was exposed to angry women, women who have lost control of their emotions, screaming, snarling and threatening people around them. This gave me an opportunity to reflect on my own relationship with anger, past and present. I've noticed two things: that I am more sensitive to anger, as I don't experience it very often any more and I deliberately avoid people who are prone to anger; and I've noticed that my response to anger has changed. 

For people who have read Borderline Shine, it is obvious that I spent much of my life feeling angry (I used to say, "I have rage enough to devour the world"), and my pattern was to meet real or perceived danger with sudden and absolute ferocity. Which would often be followed by withering shame for my over-reaction and then crushing depression for being such an asshole in such a hostile world.

That cycle sucked, and I worked hard on the shame and depression, but the evolution of my anger response was less deliberate. As I approach the ripe old age of 50, I discover I have no urge whatsoever to engage in a dance of anger. Yet, like every human being, I am affected by it.

These days, when I see anger right up in my face, directed at me or mine, I am able to remain calm and rational. I did not practice DBT skills to learn that, I think it is a natural consequence of learning what is effective, and maybe because I finally have learned to trust myself, others and the world - the shift in my core beliefs.

However, I am still learning how to manage the secondary response to anger - the PTSD reaction that sets in after. This automatic trauma reaction is often referred to as "being triggered." For me, I appear calm and in control on the outside, but inside I am sick, and my brain begins to whirl with "what ifs." I catastrophize about the worst that may happen, and I mentally prepare my counterattack. It is very, very hard to shake this fear reaction. Sometimes I can do it in hours or days, sometimes it takes weeks. It depends on my perception and the proximity of threat. My Reasonable Mind (often joined by the voices of my friends) takes a long time to reassure my Emotion Mind - the part of my mind that was exposed to extreme violence and pain. 

It is hard to change the reaction, and maybe a trauma brain will always be vulnerable to that reaction. But I believe that we can learn to change the intensity and length of the response. I give myself time to settle, I calm my nervous system and acknowledge my emotions. I check the facts - what's real and what's not real? What are echoes of danger and what are real problems? Is the emotion and intensity of the emotion justified based on what is happening? What do I have control over? Am I safe?

Am I safe? The answer is always no and yes. There is ALWAYS the possibility of pain in this human existence, AND yet here in this moment, with this breathe, I am safe. Learning to tolerate the no and trust the yes is an ongoing practice. I have experienced excruciating loss and I am still able to experience breathtaking joy. Remembering that enables me to witness anger, re-establish a sense of safety, and I'm even learning to use a Loving Kindness practice and radical compassion.

At the other end of fear, lies love. Sending love to all the people living in anger.

Which is not to say anger can not be justified...but that's a whole other blog. Until then, I welcome your thoughts, my readers. Gracias.

Water Therapy

In Chapter 24 of Borderline Shine, I describe the trip I took in 2015 to Mexico with my friend Maeve. I included this experience because of the profound impact it had on me at the time. Five years later, I am now beginning to understand WHY it was so significant in my journey to wellness.

In Mexico, I discovered for the first time the power of water. I learned how to swim, or more precisely, I learned how to float. Spending hours in the Caribbean ocean, learning to trust the water to suspend my body, embrace me, cleanse me. I imagined all of my stress leaving me, and I do believe that I did let go of the years of tension in my muscles, my bones, my very cells. What happened is that I learned how to relax, and even more, I learned that it was safe to relax.

There were even more benefits in this exercise. As I lay on my back, immobile on top of the water, my breathing slowed and became regular. I intuitively began the dialectical behaviour therapy (DBT) practice of paced breathing. As I star-fished, my hands opened in the "willing hands" posture, a DBT skill used to facilitate "radical acceptance." With my ears below water, I muffled auditory stimulation, providing my overactive nervous system a break from the always too loud world above. My jangly nerves smoothed and soothed.

I spent the holiday allowing myself to care for myself, really care for myself. I didn't have to always be on the alert for the demands and assaults of ordinary life. And my nervous system further dipped a level down.

I could sleep. No alarms, no responsibilities. I ate when I wanted, when I was hungry or when the urge struck. I became more in tune with my poor body, neglected and abused for forty five years. No need to dissociate. I was safe.

After eight days of self care and water therapy I was in a state of mind and body never before experienced. It was revelatory.

What was equally amazing is that the lesson stuck. I learned how to replicate these feelings when I went camping, or even enjoy an afternoon at the lake. Low human stimulation, time to myself, water.

As I sit here on the shore of this beautiful Vancouver Island lake, I dearly want to share this learning with others. I know that there are powerful and influential writers and teachers in the world. I certainly am not one of them. And often my attempts as a mental health clinician to teach these DBT skills - cold water, paced breathing, willing hands, self care, self soothing, connection to emotions and to one's body - sometimes feel terribly inadequate. But here on the shore, I am inspired. I hope that even if I am only one small voice of many, I can perhaps influence and affect any readers who graciously spend a moment reading this blog.

I'm Not Dead: Part 1 & Part 2

I’m Not Dead Yet (Part 1)

Apologies to my followers, my supporters, and my friends for my disappearance of late. What happened, what happened? I can barely dare to explain... 

I crashed to earth under the weight of grief, of hatred, of injustice, of threat. 

I crashed to earth and cried. I wept blood and tears of sorrow and of fear. 

And lying on the ground, the whole world erupted around me. 

With the rest of the planet, I watched the pandemic transform our human reality and the tides of fear darken our collective unconscious. 

But in the darkness and quiet of the ashes, I stir. I breathe. 

I open my eyes and take stock. 

I’m not dead yet. 

I test my new wings. 

They are tender. 

Do I have the strength to fly again? 

Is the rise worth the fall? 

Yes. This is life. 

I can stay hunkered down and hiding, but if I’m going to live, I’m going to live. I have one shot at this life (that I know of). 

I will not live it earthbound in the shadows. 

I want to fly. 

If I’m not dead yet, I want to fly. 

I will bear the scars of my brother’s death, of confusion, accusation, betrayal. 

These scars are a part of me, but I will not let them clip my wings. 

I will not only fly, I will fucking soar. 

I’m Not Dead Yet (Part 2)

Part 1 was an “Emotion Mind” expression of my experience, and here I provide a more “Reasonable Mind” explanation of the interruption of my blog posts. 

In the last six months, there have been a series of events in my life as hard to believe as some of the experiences I describe in Borderline Shine. Hard to believe, but they did occur nonetheless. 

Time bends, past and present swirl. 

Dog’s heads were decapitated and ostriches danced. I forgot my flight and was lost in Cancun during a pandemic. Beloved brothers died then and now. I have been silent because I was again in a trauma response. 

Trauma is defined as an experience that overwhelms a person’s ability to cope. I have been overwhelmed. I have felt myself afraid for my life due to a series of losses and actual threats to my safety and wellbeing. 

Some, like Covid, are a distal threat to me in my home on the Island, but have impacted my life and view of the world. 

More proximal threats were being exposed to screaming rage and painful accusations directed specifically at me, reigniting dormant neural pathways from childhood trauma, throwing me into a fight, flight or freeze response. I was shocked that I was capable of reverting back to that level of irrational fear. 

Retrospectively I can see that I was initially able to react calmly and engage in a reasonable response. But when I realized that reason would not protect me from experiencing pain, and a reasonable response would not stop or change what was happening, I felt powerless. 

I was overwhelmed, and my Emotion Mind took over. 

In that state of mind, I did what I had to do to regain a sense of safety. I retreated, and I mourned, grieved, and processed my feelings. 

When I gave myself the grace to experience the pain, I let go of the suffering. I could then re-engage with my Wise Mind and not own other people’s suffering. I could differentiate truth and not my truth. In letting go of suffering, I made room for beauty and joy and trust and faith which rejuvenated my soul. 

I felt the freedom that comes when you learn to trust that you can handle pain. With freedom comes the ability to take a risk. Try again. Be brave. With freedom comes the ability to fly. 

Muchas gracias to the people who have reached out to me, thank you for all the love and kind words. This work is intended to educate and inspire others, so that they too can fly.

Too Much of a Good Thing

I wake up after a sleepless night. Hours spent ruminating, thoughts feelings whirling through my brain. I am sore and my eyes burn.

I am grouchy.

Too much, too much, my heart cries. My body can't keep up with my life. Between adjusting to a challenging new job, trying to organize a book launch, and parenting hormonal preteens, I am energetically tapped.

Emotions are energy, and I have been deluged by emotions arising from these mounting pressures and responsibilities. I have the dialectical behaviour skills to "manage" and "regulate" emotions, such as acknowledging, naming, and nonjudgmentally allowing emotions: I can shift my attention to other emotions, such as gratitude; I can be mindful and stay present in the moment to get a short break from the anxiety of the future; I can set boundaries to reduce responsibilities; I can practice self care and accumulate positive emotions; shit, I am one skillful mofo.

And I'm friggin' grouchy. All of these skills take time and energy, and there are not enough hours in the day to function and process the emotions. They accumulate, and I am full, fed up, tapped out, and grouchy.

I am even grouchy at myself. I'm sick of the complaining, whining voice in my head. This is what you always wanted, Whiner, you're living the freakin' dream.

I have built the life I have always wanted, but anyone who thinks that once you have achieved your goals your life will be easy is sadly mistaken. You still struggle. It's the human condition.

So I take a deep breath, I connect to Wise Mind, and I ask myself, "So, Therapist Con, what do you suggest now?"

And Wise Mind replies: "whenever you don't know what to do, choose love."

Immediate and unbidden, tears well in my eyes. Compassion, compassion, compassion. Yes, you're tired, of course you are. You are doing your best, and even when it's good things happening, it is a lot to feel. You're just a human body, and it is painful to experience so much sometimes.

I recognize that grouchy is my fight response, my way of trying to protect myself from "more." I recognize the underlying beliefs that have created the grouchy, that in the past "tired" meant "weak and vulnerable", and "weak and vulnerable" meant something terrible would happen. This chain of thought is not logical, and tapping into Wise Mind allows me to separate my emotional fears from reality. It's okay to feel tired. It's okay to feel grouchy, it's the way my Emotion Mind is telling me I need to rest. That is all. That is all.

Pulling away from Emotion Mind, I recognize that the skills I am practicing ARE working, because I AM getting through. I am getting shit done, and doing it "good enough." While I'm working, writing, and parenting, I am experiencing excitement, gratitude, joy and satisfaction. I am resisting having a drink to escape the intensity of my emotions, which historically has been my go-to distress tolerance activity. Drinking is highly effective in the short term to help a person feel better, and my Dear Readers, do not underestimate the lure and call of the bottle. Maybe I can even recognize that not only am I getting through, I'm rocking this time of my life.

And now, I notice I am a little less grouchy.

So if you made it through this rambling blog, I hope it was a helpful example of how you can practice (practice!) dialectical behaviour therapy skills. Thanks, Marsha Linehan.

About the Author

My name is Connie Greshner, and I am a Mental Health Therapist with a Master’s degree in Clinical Psychology. I have written a memoir about the complex trauma that occurred to me when I was a child, producing symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder, and how I recovered to become a counsellor for people with severe and persistent mental illness.

This book is a raw and real account of my life, beginning when I was eight years old and my father murdered my mother. My family was from a small town in Alberta, but after the murder, I was sent to live with an aunt, who enrolled me in a traditional Roman Catholic boarding school in Kansas. My identity was formed in this strange world, shame manifesting as rebellion, until I returned to Canada and my brother’s care.

Depression, addiction, and promiscuity spiraled, as I tried to cope and find help. My forays into the mental health system were not helpful, and after several suicide attempts, I decided to pursue a career in psychology so that I could help others. I continued to battle depression, anxiety, and substance use as I earned a Bachelor of Science degree, and then a Master’s degree.

Throughout my life, I had strange jobs, heartbreaking loss, and was inspired and saved by exceptional friends, my love of books, and connection to nature. Eventually, I was married, had two children, and achieved peace in the beauty of the West Coast of British Columbia.

I now work as a therapist, and my experiences support my ability to relate to clients, teach them ways to manage emotions, and sometimes witness their healing. The book contains a small amount of reflection of the intuitive means by which I picked up and used skills, like mindfulness, gratitude, and acceptance, which are recommended by dialectical behavior therapy.