In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
Robert Frost
I am so grateful to have been accompanied on my search for “the good stuff” by more than two dozen survivors of families rife with dysfunction. These survivors not only willingly shared their stories, but in exploring them realized that they had thrived as a result of their experiences. That was a big deal to them and to me. I don't think any of us expected to discover what we were looking for with such power and clarity. The good stuff is really there.
No one wants to grow up in a dysfunctional system. We didn't even have that name for it as youngsters, but it is what we got, and how fortunate it is that good can come from living in even the most troubling, threatening circumstances. In fact, I can say that a person may never know just how creative and capable they are until they are confronted by a situation that has the capacity to overwhelm them in the blink of an eye.
I was amazed by every one of the people I interviewed. And I am floored by their knowledge, courage, and continuing level of engagement in not only their own healing and growth, but in others' as well. No one voiced that they felt intentionally exploited or in grave danger because of their parenting, or lack thereof. No one felt it necessary to divorce his or her family after leaving home. Some needed space, on occasion, and still do, and that's a healthy choice when the family dynamics become too toxic. But each person, and I include myself in this group, came to believe that repairing, even strengthening, all those familial relationships was beneficial—personally, and for the family as a whole.
I would even venture to say that this healing benefits the entire human community, even if we aren't consciously aware of helping the rest of humankind. This universal effect on others, as noted earlier in the book, can be attributed to “the butterfly effect.”
The butterfly effect is evident everywhere, all of the time. It does not need to be seen or even believed for it to make its mark.
This effect envelops all of us, whether we are conscious of it or not. A butterfly, gently moving his wings around the flowers on my deck, is ever so gently affecting my neighbor's flowers too, as well as the breeze moving through town, and the storm that will be created next week. What an awesome occurrence.
Additionally, according to Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, which dates back to 1927, the specific involvement of any one of us necessarily also influences however the effect evolves, creating yet another layer of impact. I think the good news here is that science assures us that each individual positive action has a broader effect than it might have been intended to have initially. For example, when we put our differences aside or forgive members of our family of origin, we are actually affecting our relationships with many others too. And that's of great benefit to the human community.
What good food for thought. Whatever you or I do or say gets paid forward, giving each of us a valuable opportunity to effect real, positive change in the world we inhabit. Unfortunately, (and this is very unfortunate indeed), everyone's bad actions have their impact too, making it all the more necessary that those of us who want to create a loving universe should go to great lengths to act positively, over and over again.
When I consider my own family of origin and the way we influenced one another, I'm amazed. I embrace the idea that we chose each other. We sought one another out for what we would teach and learn in our time together.
Little by little, I could see that it wasn't just my family—I was sharing a mission with every person I was involved with. And the same was true for the people I interviewed. We seldom see this early in our relationships, but it's there, and if we are open to it, we can feel it. And then it comforts us. Really comforts us.
We are where we need to be and with whom we need to share that space, every moment. No exceptions.
Whether interviewing William, Marilee, Helene, Allison, Dawn, or Celia, I was occasionally moved to tears by the stories they shared. When I think of Carl, and how damaged his psyche was at the hands of a fearful, angry father, I am deeply moved that he not only survived, but eventually thrived in ways that influenced his own children so positively. The same is true about all of the people I interviewed. No one was completely diminished. Everyone eventually, with the help of some other loving companion, coupled with the God of their understanding, managed to create a comfortable life for themselves. I stand in awe of all of them. Let's do a final review now. Let's look at these individual traits again, and how they manifested in a few of the interviewees. This will serve as fodder for growth, I hope, for anyone who thinks life is simply too hard because of the family he or she was dealt.
First there is resilience . . .
Resilience. Why is it so important? I believe its importance lies in the fact that it represents to others who are looking on that in spite of criticism, even unrelenting and undeserved punishment, we can get up again and again and move forward, not unscathed but not defeated completely.
Resilience means toughness. Undefeated in spite of difficulties. Being able to stand tall even though the attacks are unrelenting.
Even though Carl's father was unrelenting in his humiliation and criticism, Carl survived and eventually became a very different kind of father to his own children. His inner strength allowed him to thrive in ways that were beyond the reach of his own father. Carl knew the power of love, what he gave and what he received. And that power groomed him to become a man of great character—one who understood the value of praise.
Resilience is a necessary quality in the life of any successful person, I think. It may show up in myriad ways, but it often manifests in the ability to recover quickly from an attack, whether it's intentional or accidental. To be resilient also means not letting failure deter you from the willingness to try again. Dawn was beaten down again and again, physically as well as psychologically. But she is standing tall today. Nearly forty years after her journey into the rooms of recovery began, she is meeting each day with determination, letting the many past traumas live in the past. She knows they have no place in a sane, secure present. As I said in the first chapter, “there is nothing magical about resilience. It's a decision before it's anything else. And then it's a commitment to execute the plan.”
Perseverance is next . . .
Along with resilience, perseverance is a quality I observed in the many I interviewed. I'm grateful it's one of the qualities I developed too. In fact, it's the quality that positioned me to write a dissertation when I had no real plan for where I was going and had not previously even voiced a desire for a doctorate. With nowhere else to go, I simply began heading in that direction after my first marriage ended. After years of study, after all the course work and written exams were completed, I dutifully sat from 8 AM until noon every day and read and wrote. Three hundred pages later I was done, and a Ph.D. was my payoff. Truth be told, I was as surprised as any one of my friends. Perseverance was the key.
Willingness is the first necessary step to the successful completion of any task or goal.
Not a single interviewee lacked perseverance. They didn't all share this quality equally, of course, but it did become clear that this is one of the necessary traits of any person who wants to survive the dysfunctional family system. I wrote about William's commitment to being academically successful and a good athlete. He was determined to find his place in society since he felt no security living at home with either parent.
Valerie demonstrated it too, as you will recall. She was steadfast in her search to succeed even though her childhood was a living hell. She quite simply did not give up, even when she wanted to. Janet, Charlie, and Allison also score high in terms of perseverance. They didn't let the occasional failures block their commitment to trying again. And again. One might even say, in Charlie's case, that failure to get that first job as a pilot inspired him to try even harder. He knew a job was there. He simply didn't know where there was.
Switching gears somewhat, let's look now at laughter . . .
I think it's fortunate that a sense of humor can be cultivated. In the dysfunctional family, laughter is often a scarce commodity, except when it's disparaging. But each person I spoke with for this book laughed often and heartily, and said that being able to see the humor in situations, both those that were funny and some that were serious, had saved them multiple times. Charlie again comes to mind. Being the practical joker in his family was a well-honed trait, but it wasn't lost on him that he clung to it because it also served as an effective wall between him and others. Knowing how to be funny was helpful in those many instances when he needed to soften the sharp edges of the humorous jabs he took at others.
Laughing over the genuinely funny occurrences in one's life, as well as the more serious ones, equalizes all the circumstances. And that's a good thing.
It was easy to see that hindsight helped cast a far more favorable perspective on so many formerly troubling situations with all of the people I interviewed. It was also apparent that every person I talked to wanted to take life less seriously than they had lived it before. They clearly felt the value of this through the visceral impact of a good laugh.
Laughing moves the soul. Making the choice to revisit some experiences that we can see now were actually pretty funny is a great way to change our perspective on life, past and present. Some people joke that it's never too late to have a happy childhood.
Now let's revisit forgiveness, to some the most valuable of all the tools we learn to appreciate and use.
Within all the families I was privy to through my interviews, it was easy to see the need for forgiveness. No one had been unscathed in their upbringing. Everyone had been abused in some manner: emotionally or physically or mentally. Some, like Janet and Dawn, had even suffered the grave injustice of sexual abuse. Each person, regardless of the kind or level of abuse, had come to understand that they needed to forgive their perpetrators if they were to find any peace of mind in the present.
There is certainly no intention here to excuse the abuse. But I do want to stress that if a person doesn't let it go, finally, he or she will tread water, staying stuck in old perceptions rather than opening the door to new awareness. We live to grow, and there simply isn't any growth if we wallow in the past, letting it hurt us over and over again.
Forgiveness isn't as hard as one might imagine. It's a decision, and once made, the steps for moving forward are laid out for us. Additionally, one's Higher Power generally ushers toward us the very individuals we need to forgive. But let's remember too, forgiving ourselves is part of the equation. And for what? For our own faults, as well as the many judgments we harbor against others, which contributes to our “stuckness.”
Forgiveness is surely a gift that shifts the entire human community.
Forgiveness had made each of my interviewees more vulnerable, gentle, open to expressing love, and intentional about helping others. Forgiveness closes the separation between all of us. It melts the barriers our egos want to maintain, but can't when we let others really know us. Forgiveness is an act of love. Even Carl, who was harmed so mercilessly, sang the praises of forgiveness. He knew it had changed him for the better. He knew it had made the relationships he had with his wife and his children more solid, more loving, more authentic.
One of my observations was that forgiveness seemed to be the act that contributed most to healing the aching heart. Why that's true wasn't easy to determine, at first, but after many conversations I was able to see that my interviewees' lives simply shifted when they let others off the hook. One courageous act after another changes the world we inhabit. The sweet irony is that hurt people can lessen the hurt in the world, if they make the choice to do so. We have all heard the saying, “hurt people hurt people.” But that's not how it has to be.
It's time to move on, and surrendering comes next . . .
Controlling anyone who is bugging us for any reason is simply out of the question. We may think we have legitimate reasons for taking control, and when it's a youngster or a teenager in our home, perhaps we should be allowed to take control, but it doesn't work. It simply doesn't work. Taking charge of someone else's behavior or opinion may seem like a reasonable task—it may even seem like a reasonable solution to any number of problems as we have outlined them—but exactly no one can be forced against his or her will to do what is requested or even demanded. Getting comfortable with the idea of surrendering others to their own choices, behavior, opinions, or even ideas is the far easier path to take. Every person I interviewed finally had to grow comfortable with this path.
Surrendering allows our fellow travelers to be whomever they choose to be.
Only once we accept the initial shock of having no control over others, can we appreciate the notion of surrender. I'm thinking right now of Harry. If you will recall, Harry went into business with a man he had known for some time who he considered reputable. They opened a restaurant and within two years, much to Harry's shock, they had gone bankrupt.
What Harry was unaware of was the dishonesty of his partner—dishonesty so deep that he managed to steal and squander all the business' bank receipts without Harry knowing it. Following the discovery, no matter how hard Harry tried to get his partner to confess his behavior and do what was necessary to file for bankruptcy, his partner refused to budge. In fact, he disappeared. It fell on Harry's shoulders to be accountable for the entire failure of the business.
Even when our viewpoint appears right and justifiable, as in Harry's case, we still can't make someone else do what they don't want to do. Period! Every person I spoke with had struggled against the idea of giving up control. “If I say it this way, perhaps . . .” or “If I agree to do this, then he will do that,” and on and on. We finally have to say, “I give. You have the final say about your life.” And then the relief sets in.
Surrendering actually releases tension. It changes how every circumstance feels. The freedom gained through surrender registers universally.
No other practice offers such immediate freedom. It's a freedom we are not eager to relinquish once we have tasted it. And surrendering, in time, will be recognized as the biggest gift given to the human community.
And then there is connection . . .
Our connection to others and the healing it offers can't be weighed too heavily. It has been said that it's in joining with others that we heal. The isolation of disconnection holds us back, keeps us stuck and sick and desperately lonely.
Connecting with others isn't easy for many of us, unfortunately. The men and women I interviewed all dreaded going to their first counselor or support group or recovery room. Keeping the dysfunction of the family to themselves seemed safer. It was a common hope that maybe they had even imagined it. The ugliness of the dysfunction made them too afraid to let others in on how their families actually looked on the inside. But everyone I spoke with had finally surrendered to their inner cry for help. That's where our paths crossed.
I'm so grateful to each one of them because of what I learned, but also because I firmly believe that every time we share our pain, we lessen it. And every time we share our joy, we double it. In this book, more pain has been shared than joy perhaps, but every person here has crossed the bridge to a better life filled with joy. No one more than Marilyn. You will recall that her father was a psychiatrist who threatened everyone in the family, especially her mother, with beatings if they let others know what life at home was really like. In the next breath he'd deny that his words were ever spoken.
Not feeling crazy in that home was impossible. That Marilyn had the courage, and I do mean courage, to escape and get help for herself was fortunate for all of us who knew her and loved her. She taught us memorable things about the value of connection and the path to joy. She was a living example of how it had saved her life.
Vulnerably connecting with others absolutely heals our ailing souls.
The added benefit of learning to connect with others as we do in recovery rooms, as all the people I have shared with you here have learned to do, is that it closes the separation between us, a separation that has the capacity to destroy the human spirit. Without conscious connection we die. We simply die.
Love is the answer to any situation, any question, any person . . .
We are acting from a place of either love or fear in every instance of our life. Simplistic? Perhaps, but true. Sheri taught me so much about this idea. Rather, I should say showed me so much. She was the embodiment of love. Her teaching about love was constant and it offered hope and help to those who walked through the doors of recovery rooms. She was love in action.
Sheri had not grown up in a home where love was practiced, however. She learned about love from others in the rooms who mentored her, and then she took her turn. That's how healing happens. Love is passed on to the uninitiated when it is least expected. Wounds are closed and the messages of hope and love are received and not squandered. They will be passed on again and again when someone else seeks a new way to see, to understand, without even knowing what they are looking for.
I didn't end up in my first twelve-step room in search of what I received. But I was hooked from the start. And why? The feeling of love that permeated the space, the faces, the laughter of those who were present. I wanted what they had. I went back to get more of it.
We can't help but recognize love when we see it so freely expressed.
My life has never been the same since that first encounter with real love in 1974. I know the same can safely be said for all the people I have shared with you throughout the pages of this book. We came. We sought. We found. We shared. We healed.
Putting our differences aside when we love each other benefits the world too.
Love is a constant. We learn to recognize it in others before we can see it in ourselves.
Kindness begins here and now with one simple decision . . .
When others are not kind, they are hurting. I have chosen to believe this idea, true or not, and it has changed my life. Marilee is one of the women I interviewed who reflected this philosophy in every word she said and every action she took. Like so many others, she didn't grow up in an environment that taught her about kindness, but she did observe how it was expressed by others. She then became a strong proponent.
Being kind is a choice that can be repeated as many times a day as necessary.
Barriers melted away, Marilee said, when she began offering the hand of kindness to others. Nettie was quick to agree with her. I talked with both of them about this topic of dysfunctional families and how they had been affected. It was enlightening to get their views—two women from very different backgrounds and sections of the country. One a professional all her life, the other a housewife. One with an alcoholic husband who never quit drinking, the other with siblings who would rather drink than interact with her. But both of them sang the praises of the expression of kindness, what it did in the moment, and how it benefitted the rest of the day too.
It's not lost on me that what we do to one, we do to all. What we carry in our hearts has its impact too. We need not even be aware of this for it to be true. William comes to mind in relation to kindness. Even though he experienced none in his home while growing up, I would have to say he was one of the nicest men I had the pleasure of talking to. How did the transformation happen? By osmosis, I think.
William came into the rooms to find out how to help his wife, you might recall. Much like all of us who have similar problems, he thought he would be handed a small booklet outlining what to do to change how she behaved. That was what I was seeking, too. I think that's what we all seek initially. He got help, but not that kind. And he observed the power of kindness. Kindness that he got from others, “for doing nothing,” he said, and the kindness he heard others talk about: its power, its effect on the family, its ability to change any circumstance at all.
Don't be stingy with kindness. Offer it to everyone.
It is always good to check our motives regarding any behavior. Kindness as an attempt to influence others through manipulation is not healthy behavior. But I have decided that choosing to be kind is always a good and wise choice because of its far-reaching benefit throughout the human community. And the way in which it subtly changes the one being kind too.
And now, detachment, a powerful game changer . . .
I didn't understand what detachment meant when I first heard the word. I didn't even have an inkling. My life consisted of a series of attachments to people, particularly men. Not living that way seemed impossible, uninteresting, certainly lonely. I honestly didn't know if it was possible to detach my mind, my emotions, and my behavior from the actions of the person I was dancing around. I certainly had not gone to a twelve-step meeting to learn how to do this. On the contrary, I wanted to learn how to make every hostage I hung on to want to stay. Codependency, they called it. Another term unfamiliar to me.
Detaching from others lets them and us live as we all should live.
The individuals I interviewed all had attachment problems too. I'd venture to say it's a common syndrome in the human community, and not just here in America. Wars are fought over the misunderstood actions and reactions of people living across borders from one another, or even more commonly, living halfway around the world from one another. Is it any wonder that minding our own business and celebrating each other's individual journey is difficult?
I can point to any one of the interviewees and elaborate on how the failure to detach from a lover, a child, a sibling, or a parent prevented them from living peacefully, but my own story serves well too. My life was a series of unhealthy attachments, coupled with the complications and dark drama that one expects when alcohol and drugs are part of the mix. I loved my “hostages,” and the thought of being uncoupled from them—detached from them, as was suggested in Al-Anon—simply scared me too much. Who would I be without them? How would I live if someone wasn't in my constant sight?
Discovering that I had never had a real life at all was such an unexpected gift. Every person I spoke with received this gift too, and what's even better is that we became strong proponents for letting go of the others we felt needed us, when in reality, we thought we'd die without them.
We will find no peace of mind until we free others to live their own lives.
To listen is to witness. No greater gift can we offer . . .
Listening to our fellow travelers may be the best gift we can offer. I certainly had the experience of feeling unheard for much of my life. It smacks of the too-familiar adage from an earlier generation, that children should be “seen and not heard.” It's my observation that unfortunately this trait hasn't died out in dysfunctional families. Those I interviewed concurred.
Feeling discounted or judged in an uncomplimentary way are common themes in dysfunctional families. One idea I discovered, which lay at the root of all dysfunctional families, was that only one person really counted and that was the person who had usurped the power from everyone else.
Being heard is for many the first step on the path to healing.
We give ourselves a gentle gift by looking to the folks in recovery circles as the parents we may never have had. I have yet to meet someone in any twelve-step program, or in any part of my journey, who didn't need some re-parenting. And it's not my intention to put parents down here. I think we can only give others what we were given. And no doubt few were raised with really healthy parenting. The beauty of twelve-step groups is that we listen. We care. We share. We make ourselves humble before one another and we admit our failings. All of this educates the newcomers and reeducates the old timers about our purpose, and it's a simple one: listen and love. Accept and honor. Whatever we failed to get at home can be made up for here, in this setting.
No one I spoke with manifested this more clearly than Marilee. Whether in the circle at a meeting or one to one, she never looked away when a person was speaking. You knew she heard you. You knew she cared. You knew that if you were sharing a hurt, it was being halved at that very moment. She wasn't the only person with this trait, but she generally went one step further than others. After listening, at the end of a meeting or over coffee, she approached you with a genuine hug, and that hug sealed the deal. You were on your way to real healing.
This gift of Marilee's was honed, even though her family never gave her what she was able to give to others. How is this possible, I used to wonder? And then other aspects of my spiritual journey answered the question. We each are here with an assignment. We get the parents and the families we need in order to grow into the people we need to become. Marilee did it before our eyes. So did Sheri. So did everyone I spoke with. The equation is actually pretty simple when we look at it this way, isn't it? We become who we need to be. We meet who we need to meet. We teach and learn what is assigned to us. And listening is one of those lessons.
Listening is an art that needs constant practice. And it creates its own payoff: intimacy.
I think it's an interesting conundrum that what we didn't get from our families growing up, we do find where we'd least expect it: in a room of strangers who also have been deeply wounded by their upbringing.
Judgment traps while acceptance releases. Choose . . .
Judgment, when it is negative, is never helpful. That's primarily because it's used to criticize others. Discernment, on the other hand, which is akin to judgment, is considered helpful because it determines value. We choose, again and again, to judge or discern. Most parenting in dysfunctional families ranks high on negative judgment. And we gravitate to mimicking whatever we observed at home. But we can learn to “discern” with kinder, clearer eyes. And when we do, we discover the power and the joy of acceptance.
Acceptance is the solution that changes the tenor of every stress-filled moment.
William and Carl lived in a storm of negative judgment until they finally escaped from the clutches of one or both parents. And yet, they excelled in their own lives in many ways. One was their willingness to lay negative judgments aside and practice love and acceptance freely. They did for their children what they wished could have been done for them. In the process, they re-parented themselves and became great examples to everyone, reminding us that acceptance is attainable.
We can sit in judgment of those who trouble us all we want, but nothing changes if nothing changes. If we want to experience something different in our families, among our friends, at work, or in our neighborhoods, we must pick up the reins of change ourselves. It became apparent to me (and to all the people I interviewed and observed) that the easiest solution was changing our own minds, choosing a different approach ourselves, and accepting others as they were and are. There is relief in this reality, actually, and it's this: we can be assured that change will occur if we are in the driver's seat, responsible for acceptance.
Acceptance, unfortunately, isn't a natural response. It requires a decision, then commitment, and lots of practice.
Every person who was part of the small research project for this book practiced day in and day out. And they knew the old behavior was still trying to reclaim them. All our old behaviors sit in the shadows and wait for those vulnerable moments to reassert themselves. Being our better self in all of our affairs requires vigilance.
Accepting responsibility for our own lives is the first step to true healing . . .
We take a big step in our healing when we give up the desire to blame others for whatever befalls us. However, we have to give up the desire to control others too. Responsibility for others' actions is not part of our job description. Others cross our path for many reasons, but that is never one of them. In order to embrace emotional maturity, we must respect others enough to let them be responsible for themselves and respect ourselves enough to take responsibility for every part of our own lives. Responsibility goes both ways, and is a necessary hallmark of one who wants true healing.
Not stepping in to take charge, when it's not ours to take, shows real growth.
This is one trait that demands willingness for everyone to attain, I think. When we blame others, or are slow to accept full responsibility for screw-ups, we often chalk it up to human nature. Wanting to share the blame feels easier than saying, “it's my fault that this happened.” I think that's what makes responsibility such a high priority for the many people I interviewed. They had all survived such high levels of dysfunction that it wouldn't have been surprising if they had wanted to push responsibility for mistakes on to others. They surely didn't observe parents taking responsibility for lousy parenting. And yet, these folks demonstrated they had turned the corner, and supported each other in turning that same corner.
Every person I interviewed wore responsibility very well. Some of them struggled not to take on someone else's, on occasion, but blamers they weren't. And that's refreshing.
Being controlling can look like being responsible, if we aren't careful. And honest with ourselves. However, there is a big difference between the two.
Patty, perhaps, wore this “achievement” the best of all the people I spoke with. She had a sixth sense when it came to responsibility versus control. She knew what was hers to do, even before she got to the rooms of recovery. But among us she learned what not to do. She didn't answer phones that didn't need to be answered. She didn't ask or answer questions that were none of her business. She didn't blame, in spite of the upbringing she had. She seemed to understand that her parents had done their best with her big family. What they did wasn't great, but it was past. Today was her day. A new day. And she could make choices that benefitted her and her children.
Patty was a great role model, especially for the newcomers to our rooms of recovery. She had a great sense of humor and had survived many ordeals. She took them in stride, and this demonstrated to everyone that responsibility begins with “us.” Responsibility leads to manageability. And Patty managed very well.
The journey has been perfect . . .
Coming to the conclusion that our journey has been exactly what we needed offers great relief. I'm personally overjoyed that I have been called to do the work I do, and that it has allowed me to meet and interview each person who has been part of this book. And when I look back on my life, from my childhood to the present, I can see clearly how every thread of my tapestry was necessary. Every corner I turned, whether into a dark alley or down an unfamiliar street, introduced me to experiences I needed to be the woman writing this book at this very moment.
I know this is true for Carl and William and Janet. In fact, every kind person who gave me their time, their honesty, their attention, and their willingness to share the details of harrowing pasts is to be commended. Every one of them is on a path that offers hope to others. I thank each and every person who sat with me, and in so doing became part of my evolution, part of my tapestry as I became part of theirs. We needed each other. As I said so much earlier in the book, the decision to make this a part of our journey was decided long before we ever met. What a glorious awareness that has become for me. It makes every new day rich with anticipation.
We have met by design. Thank you for showing up.
In closing, let me leave you with a reiteration of a few simple, life-altering ideas. I know my life has never been the same since adopting these ideas.
The butterfly effect is evident everywhere, all the time. It does not need to be seen or even believed for it to make its mark.
We are where we need to be and with whom we need to share that space, every moment. No exceptions.
Resilience means toughness. Undefeated in spite of difficulties. Being able to stand tall even though the attacks are unrelenting.
Willingness is the first necessary step to successful completion of any task or goal.
Laughing over the genuinely funny occurrences in one's life, as well as the more serious ones, makes all circumstances equal in their overall impact. And that's a good thing.
Forgiveness is a gift that shifts the entire human community.
Surrendering allows our fellow travelers to be whoever they choose to be.
Surrendering actually releases tension. It changes how every circumstance feels.
Vulnerably connecting with others is the only thing that can absolutely heal our ailing souls.
We can't help but recognize love when we see it so freely expressed.
Putting our differences aside when we love each other benefits the world too.
Being kind is a choice that can be repeated as many times a day as necessary.
Don't be stingy with kindness. Offer it to everyone.
Detaching from others lets them (and us) live as we all should live.
We will find no peace of mind until we free others to live their own lives.
Being heard is for many the first step on the path to healing.
Listening is an art that needs constant practice. And it creates its own payoff: intimacy.
Acceptance is the solution that changes the tenor of every stress-filled moment.
Acceptance, unfortunately, isn't a natural response. It requires a decision, then commitment, and lots of practice.
Not stepping in to take charge unless it's ours to take shows real growth.
Being controlling can look like being responsible if we aren't careful.
We have met by design. Our work here is by design. Our legacy has been determined. Hallelujah.
Go in peace and know that your journey is divine.