Journey to Wellness

In my last blog, I used the term, "journey to wellness." Even as I wrote it, the phrase felt wrong. Imprecise. Incongruent with what I wanted to say. In need of clarification. So here it is:

At the end of Borderline Shine, I summarized some of the learning that I had gained at that time. Taking responsibility for choices, compassion, acceptance, non judgment. These values and choices have enabled me to achieve a degree of happiness and contentment in my life. Moments of joy. What I sometimes refer to as "pearls."

Yet is that "wellness?"

'Shine ended five years ago in 2015, and I wrote the book in the summer of 2018. In the last five years, would I describe myself as "well?"

I have continued to struggle. I even wrote a sequel to the book, which I entitled Over the Borderline: A story of relapse and recovery. It chronicled the personal and situational challenges I faced in the three years after 'Shine ended. And even since I completed that draft, life continues to be tumultuous inside and out. Some may say that is "normal," but besides the fact that I hate the word "normal," I often wonder, "What the hell? Surely other people don't have such bizarre, ridiculous and random events happen!"

I reflect that my own episodes of anxiety swell and ebb, much as I think many other people's do. And when I find myself lost in the distortions of fear, grief and anger, the ludicrousness of using the term "journey to wellness" makes me sneer in self depreciation.

And yet, and yet...I also believe that "wellness" can be a relativistic term. Sometimes I think that wellness can be an ever changing point on a continuum between fear and love (I use fear and love as general words to differentiate between darkness and light...and that will be a whole other blog). If I'm more often near love, maybe I'm well. If I'm even able to shift myself closer to love in the midst of fear, maybe I'm well.

Or maybe wellness can be conceptualized as a dialectic - I am love AND fear, but the greater of these is love.

My intention in writing this blog is to remind my readers that there is no endpoint in the "journey to wellness" as it can be redefined by perception, definition, and relativity. That's why one theme of Borderline Shine is to be cautious with judgments. Even with the most loving of intentions, we cannot fully understand another person.

I posted a picture of a quote by Anais Nin that said, "We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." This was in response to the misinterpretation of the content and intent of Borderline Shine by a few readers, misinterpretations which were absolutely unexpected and astonishing to me. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, as human history is redolent with examples of misinterpretations, and on a lesser level they occur between people every day. Thousands of years of human history, and we are still struggling to understand the world and each other. It is a bit of a relief when I give up the struggle and tell myself, "honestly, half the time I don't have a clue what is going on." Mindfulness practice teaches noticing what we observe with the five senses without judgment, with an open, curious mind. But what if we had different senses? We would totally experience a different world. It is all relative.

So whoever you are, wherever you are, and however you define "wellness," I send you love and reiterate the last lines of the poem I wrote and ended my memoir with: "Never give up/Borderline, Shine."

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.

EVENT: Powell River Author Reading

 CANCELLED DUE COVID

Please join us for an author reading of

 'Borderline Shine: A Memoir' by Connie Greshner

WHEN: Saturday, March 28, 2020 12:00-2:00 p.m.

WHERE: Coles Bookstore, Town Centre Mall, 7100 Alberni Street, Powell River, BC

Sponsored by Coles Bookstore and the Powell River Peak

FREE ADMISSION & OPEN TO THE PUBLIC

Truth

 

The Launch

Flurries of emotions push me, pound me, knock me off centre in the week before my book launch. Bruce passed away only a week before, and grief is still raw and powerful. I function, while trying to understand and accept that he is really gone. I go through periods of rage which I try to channel into productive action. I go through sadness which sucks my energy so low I can barely breathe. Much of the time I am apathetic - how can I care about anything at all when my brother is so unexpectedly, so suddenly gone?

I get through because I have developed strong, loving relationships with strong, loving people. My husband, shattered himself from losing his "brother," is a rock for me. My dear friends stay connected in the ways they can, and show their kindness with their words, their actions, their thoughtful gifts and most of all, their empathy.

And then my sisters, united, flying in from Alberta to be with me. To grieve with me. To support me to proceed with the launch. We balance our time together in the two days before the launch between the need for us to speak of and honour our brother and preparing for the event. After an impromptu and perfect ceremony for Bruce at the lake, our attention shifts to necessary tasks. Theresa has experience and Jo has willing hands. As a team, we can do this. I am ready.

Genuine delight fills me as guests begin to arrive - friends and acquaintances who drove, ferried and flew from near and far. So many surprises, and I am humbled by the support. I swirl around, meeting and greeting people I know and love, and new people I am grateful to meet.

The cafe fills, and I realize it is standing room only. A full house. Time for speeches. I almost cry when Theresa chokes up during her introduction. Fortunately, my work as a facilitator for mental health groups enables me to take the stage, deliver my speech, read a chapter and answer questions. I am surprised to notice that I am even enjoying myself!

The launch is a resounding success. We sell out of books and have to direct others to order copies from Amazon. Guests are happy, and I am happy. I feel light as air, and later that night I am singing and dancing when the family gathers for the after-party. This book gig is pretty cool. 

I don't realize until I awaken, long before dawn, how energetically dysregulated I have been. The long, emotional days before the launch, the adrenaline rush during, and the exhaustion after have my mind and body buzzing and burnt out. My dialectic behavioural therapist mind reflects on the use of DBT skills that I used, coached by my skillful co-worker and phenomenal friend Micke: she reminded me to "cope ahead" when I anticipated I would struggle with anxiety.  I reflect that I was able to be mindful, fully present and fully participating, which increased my ability to be effective. I had "built mastery" by learning public speaking and practicing my speech. And I know for the next event, I will focus more on "PLEASE" skills - taking care of my physical needs to reduce vulnerability to emotions.

And through it all I used gratitude. Quite simply, I used love. So I will end this blog with a heart-filled and heart-felt thank you to all the wonderful people who attended my launch and were integral to its success. Thank you to the many people sending me messages and connecting with my words. May the book serve its intention, to promote awareness of complex trauma and trauma informed practice, reduce stigma, and increase hope, compassion and love.

EVENT: Book Launch

 Please join us for the official book launch of

'Borderline Shine: A Memoir'

by Connie Greshner

WHEN: Saturday, February 15, 2020 1:00-3:00 p.m.

WHERE: The Crooked Spoon Cafe, 970 Shoppers Row, Campbell River BC

​

FREE ADMISSION & OPEN TO THE PUBLIC

Not Part of the Plan

I found out three days ago that my beloved brother Bruce died. It's hard to describe the disbelief, the shock, the pain that has followed. I'm fumbling for words to meet the need I have to speak of my love and my grief.

I keep circling back to "I don't understand." Death at any time is difficult for us human survivors to comprehend. How can a whole person - body, mind and spirit - be present in one moment in time, interwoven in our lives, a part of our own identity, and then in the next moment, be gone? A hole has been gashed in the fabric of my universe. I try to comprehend this new world that I find myself in, this world where Bruce isn't here. My touchstone, my support, my biggest fan.

My brother.

And I feel the surge of anger rising. This wasn't the plan. Bruce and I had a plan, it was a good plan, we were working on the plan, and it was almost here. Bruce was almost here. His plane ticket was bought, he was coming to stay with me for three weeks, and he swore up and down he would be here permanently by June. He was going to live with me and start a new life out here. I was going to get some land and we were going to have a cabin and he was going to take care of things for me. Bruce and I talked about the plan all the time, and the wheels were in motion.

I didn't even know he was sick. People thought he had a cold. I hadn't heard from him in a week, and I assumed he was working off the grid, saving up for his trip. I left a message for him to call me, a message left when he may already have been dead. None of us liked it that he lived alone, but he was a strong, capable, fifty six year old man. None of us imagined him dying alone in his bed, and now we are left wondering how and why.

I will never again hear his dry and quick wit; he was the funniest guy I knew. I'll never hear his frank and honest words, always calling bullshit where he saw it. I'll never hear him say, "I love you Connie Lynne," which he said every single time we talked.

Two brothers gone in five years. Both strong, sensitive, kind men that I am proud to have had as brothers.

Bruce! This was not in the plan!

I want to believe that I can feel his arms around me. I want to believe that he is with each of us who remember him. I keep seeing flickering lights and I know people would think I was crazy believing that Bruce is letting me know he is here. Who cares what people think. I know, one hundred percent in my heart, that Bruce is with his heartbroken, beautiful daughter, his little girl that he loved unconditionally.

I feel Bruce's spirit beside me as I try to figure out how to navigate this new world where he is not physically present. I'm having a hard time giving a shit about anything right now, but I also know that Bruce was my biggest support. He had read my memoir and told me that he had cried, and he told me many times that he was proud of me.

So I know that I have to proceed with my book launch, and I can do it because my sisters are flying out to stand by me. We three girls, three of the five children who survived our mother's death. We are connected like never before, and protected always by our brothers.

Not part of the plan, Brucey.

Stick to the plan, Connie Lynne.

I'll do my best, my brother.

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.

It Will Be Great

Blessed sleep. Until 7 a.m. Then I lay cozy, listening to the rain.

I feel rested and ... content. My house is pretty much in order after the holiday madness, and I have a pretty lazy day ahead. Just some writing, cooking, walking and puttering.

This is the life I've worked to create. This moment here. I don't want anything else. I have great things to look forward to, but this feeling of contentment is exactly what I want more of.
I'm not worried or irritated or stressed. Yes, there is a lot coming and yes I know there will be challenges. I feel removed from them in this singular moment. Right now I don't have to rush or respond. I don't have to push. I don't have to do a single thing that I don't want to do.

How unusual.

How can I create this more often?

Rest. Keep up on things. Don't take on so much. Accept what I have. Mindfulness and gratitude. Stay here in this moment of pure pleasure.

I reflect upon the years I spent having to respond to the every nonstop need of my children. They're older now, more independent. I can fuss and worry about the problems of parenting teenagers, or I can trust they'll be okay and I can trust that I'll manage the inevitable crises that will arise.

I reflect that I have accepted the upheavals, losses and changes of the past year. There will likely be subsequent pangs and pains when I remember some of these losses. Thinking about the difficulties adjusting to a new job, financial losses, and wondering about the success of my book will quickly bring me back to anxiety-land.

But I choose to return to this moment of listening to my snoring dog in the next room and the pitter patter of the rain outside. I choose to have another cup of coffee, stretch my lovely bones, and remember this feeling.

It strikes me that in fact I do remember this feeling: last spring after my book was accepted for publication, I spent a lot of time in anxiety-land. On a glorious sunny day in May, I took my dog to the lake. We sat on the shore and I lay back on the soft sand. I let my mind drift as I listened to the water lapping the bank and the wind rustling the leaves. I let the tension in my muscles flow down, out, and into the sun-warmed sand. In the wind or in my mind, I heard a clear voice, a voice I knew was my mother's, and she said, "Remember this feeling. It will be great." I felt a profound sense of peace and I absorbed the sensation of utter calm, trust and faith.

This message impacted me so strongly that when I arose, I went to my jeep, ripped off a piece of paper from a receipt, wrote down the words and tucked the slip of paper in my wallet. The winds of change which blew in the next seven months buffeted me back and forth and rocked my entire core, and there were times I clung to those words to get through the storm. I smile as I recognize that same feeling I had beside the lake in this present moment. I know that I CAN create this feeling, by becoming quiet, still, and listening. This time, I say the words to myself: "Remember this feeling. It will be great."

Merry Christmas Mom

 I have noticed I am having lots of thoughts about my mom this Christmas, perhaps more than usual and that the thoughts are definitely different these days. In Christmas's past, I would recoil from thoughts of her, desperately trying to avoid memories that brought back the pain of her loss. Now I actively seek her, look for her in the expressions on my children's faces, smile with her as time bends and I am baking cookies and wrapping presents with her then and with my kids now, and I hear her whispers of guidance when I get wound up with Christmas anxiety.

If I lie awake in bed ruminating about trying to plan a perfect holiday, or worry about pleasing others with gift choices, I imagine what she would say. "Appreciate every moment. Create joy. Do what makes you happy. Be happy, little one."

And so I try to practice skills which increase my happiness during the holiday season. I noticed I was grouchy one morning and realized I had too many expectations as I anticipated the arrival of company, so I reframed my self talk as "what gets done is enough, it will be enough, I am enough" (shout out to Brene Brown). I fully participate in the whirlwind of activities I plan. I sing and crack jokes and let myself cry when I feel emotional listening to cheesy Christmas carols. I walk away from my chores and take a day trip to the lake where my soul is replenished. I practice mindfulness during my walks through the mountain snows. I am full of gratitude for all I have, my family, my life.

My cousins in Alberta posted a picture on Facebook showing the contributions that they made to my mom's grave, little solar lights and flowers in the snow. These cousins weren't even born when she was alive, and their love is so beautiful. I believe that time and space can bend through the energy of our thoughts, memories and love. Near and far, past present and future, we are all connected. This is my comfort, as I listen quietly for the whisper of my mom's voice: "Merry Christmas, little one." And I whisper back, "Merry Christmas Mom."

Intention

Yesterday I heard another story from someone who told me that her doctor told her that the trauma she endured when she was a child had changed her brain so significantly that she would never change, she would always suffer from intense mood swings, be self destructive, and be "Borderline."
My reaction was emotionally intense, contained urges of destruction, and no doubt the doctor would consider my thoughts to be "Borderline." I was thoroughly pissed off that these interactions are still occurring in the medical system. People are told they are hopeless and treatment will not help. What hurt my heart is that this girl believed it.

You see, I can have a fighting reaction, experience rage and urges to wail and rail against ignorance, stigma and injustice, but I now have a DBT trained mind that whispers, "is this effective?" I can acknowledge my feelings and thoughts without judgment, and then choose the response which will be helpful to me and perhaps to others.
And so I choose to fight with words.

I had planned on starting this blog to promote my book, and I had been mulling over why I want my book to sell. Of course it would be nice to have more money, but when I was asked by Dundurn press to really consider the consequences of publishing my dark story, I had to explore my motivations to write "Borderline Shine." And as the publication date looms only eight weeks away, I notice intermittent feelings of anxiety and thoughts of self doubt. Being clear about my primary motivation for the book and the blog helps me to reduce fear and increase commitment. I am writing to fight stigma, and I am writing to connect with people struggling and suffering with mental health pain. I am writing to fight fiercely for this girl I met yesterday, and others I know and don't know who are drowning in darkness and hopelessness. I am writing to shine a light of hope.
I think that the most effective way to achieve this goal is to "shine real." To allow my voice without filtering my truth because of my fear of judgment or desire for validation. Expect mistakes, inconsistencies, strange twists of reality, and if you can't handle profanity, don't bother visiting this page again.
I will present information I have learned from formal training as a mental health clinician, knowledge from reading and listening to influential leaders and experts, truth from friends and acquaintances, and my own experience and beliefs. I'll tell stories that I think are funny or inspiring and maybe helpful. I'll share opinions and new learnings from the work that I do. There will be dark and light, lovely dialectics and crazy (but true) stories. There will be passion and compassion. This blog won't be prescriptive, and tell people step by step what to do to feel better. There is no single truth or way to find what you are seeking. Even if you don't know (yet) what you're seeking, don't know who you are - what you are - or can't even imagine something different, the fact that you are still alive shows that you haven't given up. Your life is the small ember of hope that perhaps my words can fuel into a blaze, so that you can shine as you were born to.
Be fierce. And be effective. Remember, Dear Readers, that today you can choose to shine.

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.