Mother's Day Memorial: A Mental Health Check In

My mom's senior portrait; she was
only 17 years old.  To me, she looked
like a movie star.

This is a special Mother's Day. I am going to turn 56 at the end of this month. The same age my mother was when she took her own life. The last time I saw her in person was Mother's Day 1990.

We gathered with all her siblings and their children as we always did for big holidays at my grandparents' home. This was always a joyous and boisterous occasion with round-robin conversations catching up with everyone. I don't remember much of this visit. Our 6-month old son and two and a half-year-old daughter kept our focus, I'm sure. What I do know is my mom and I didn't take any time to talk just us two.

FORESEEING

Mom made that jacket for me out of
a high-end remnant she bought at the fabric store.
(Notice the wall of photos in the background.)

Looking at her senior photo, the one hanging on the wall of my grandmother's home among the five other framed photos of her siblings, my mom looked to me like a movie star. She was the second oldest. Her parents' first daughter. To look at her portrait, no one could not have ever foreseen the turbulent, frenetic future she would have.

Just when her mental illness began, I'm not sure. Looking back on stories she told me as a kid, I'm thinking it began during her college years. However, she always had a bit of an edge to her from what I've been told. She was always headstrong and very independent which led her to work at some job or other from the age of 14 years on and to travel to England to study nursing.

Mom and her friends from her time
in England.  She told me that
the man on her right was suppose
to come to America soon after so that
they would be wed, but he never did.

UPBRINGING

While my kidhood was unpredictable with many highs and lows, I have come to cherish all she strived to give my sister and me. She was a single parent who was dealing with undiagnosed mental illness. She worked hard to provide a home for us. We were very poor, but she never took any public assistance. Now and then, she'd ask for financial help from her parents, but that was always as a last resort.

She had me out of wedlock. My father, whom I never came to know, paid her $16,000 to leave him and his family alone. She put that money into buying our home which had three other apartments for her to rent out. I've come to understand that in 1964 that her decision to have and keep me was an act of bravery. With the support of her parents (we lived with them for the first six months of my life), she forged a life for us. She got a job at working for a doctor as office staff and soon met a man who offered to make us a part of his family. Cal and she were married (no photos that I know of), and I had my first birthday living with him and his daughter (his first wife had died from cancer).


As her mental illness began to show more and more intensely with the apex being an episode when she, in anger, punched her fist through the front plate-glass window requiring many stitches in her palm and up the inside of her wrist, he asked for a divorce citing he couldn't put his daughter through more instability and trauma (understandable). The sad thing is no one (her husband, doctor, or family) thought to look into this event to see what was the cause. Mental illness was not talked about.

My first birthday. 
My mom made the cake.

But, she did not give up. She found a little log cabin on the side of a lake that she rented for just the two of us. I believe we lived there for a year. And from the photos I have of that time, it looks like it was wonderful. She continued to work for the doctor while I stayed with an older woman down the road who loved taking care of the two of us.

My mom made many of my outfits
in my first few years of life including
this cute bunny costume.

My mom certainly took care of me. She made my clothes and even my Halloween costume. When we were snowed in during the Great Snowstorm of 1967, she built a snowman as tall as herself. She threw a 3rd birthday party for me. It was then that she introduced a man she had met at a singles group gathering. He was to become my step-dad the next year and soon after, my baby sister was born.

Snowstorm of 1967. Mom built
a snowman for the two of us.

Joe, my step-dad, was a kind but wounded soul. He had six children of his own from his first marriage. He'd been through AA (and I don't recall any drinking issues while he lived with us). What I do know is he wasn't really thrilled to add two more children to his roster, especially one that wasn't a blood relation. However, he was kind and funny, and I have warm memories of his presence. During the two years that they were married, I do remember major fights. Mostly, my mom screaming and dishes breaking. This led to their divorce-still no one (that I know of) pushed for looking into what was going on.

SOOTHING

I have heartwarming memories of my mom. She loved to scratch my back and play with my hair. On long car rides, as we listened to music or a radio drama, I'd lay my head on her gas-pedal leg (in the 70's there wasn't mention of seatbelt-safety), and she'd run her fingers gently through my hair. This is still an ingrained, self-soothing automatic action I do. If ever you see me sitting, my arm up in the air as I bring strands of silky, cool hair through my middle and pointer fingers, you know that I'm stressed or thinking hard on something.

She allowed us to have pets. This was always a special comfort to my sister. She still loves her dog like a best friend and each of her three children have grown into animal lovers.

Through our growing up years, my mom made a living by owning two apartment buildings.  The one on the lake that she purchased when I was a baby and one that she and Joe purchased in the first year of their marriage.  We would live in one of the apartments, and then the three of us would do the upkeep.  My mom taught us what it meant to work.  At an early age, we learned to weed, mow, paint window sills, etc. And then after a few hours of work, she'd tell us to stop and go for a swim or go play while she kept on working.  One of my favorite memories was once her workday was done, she'd often treat us all to get an ice cream at the little shop on our drive home. Both my sister and I are still hard workers, not afraid to tackle pretty much any task on our own.  We learned that from her.

MY VERY CORE

The core of who I am comes from her.  As I've indicated, we were poor.  However, most who saw us wouldn't know that there was minimal food in the house or bills that were overdue.  She kept us looking pretty middle class. I came to love the hand-me-downs she'd get from the "rich" side of town's churches more than new clothes because they were soft and worn in.  

One time, she got a used bike for me.  It was WAY too big. So, she put two-by-fours chunks of wood on each side of the pedals, and I learned quickly how to balance and ride it without falling.  It wasn't the banana seated beauty I had wanted, but it allowed me to get around the neighborhood with the other kids.

This isn't the actual bike, but
it looked very much like this one
(except blocks of wood on both
sides of the pedals)😂

She taught me how to drive, how to be an independent thinker, to love learning, reading, and story.  She gave me opportunities like attending multiple VBS programs in the summer, going to camp, being involved in band, and taking extracurricular classes like macrame and painting. I was able to be on my school's swim team and volleyball teams. She made homemade popcorn balls for me to bring to school. (Oh the 70's, when homemade treats were still allowed!)  I was really popular that day in 4th grade.

My mom showed me how to be determined, honest, and caring.  She encouraged me to help others. She made me face the consequences when I lied. She didn't allow me to feel like I couldn't do.  She talked to me about college and traveling to England. She filled me with goals to one day do the same.

My mom made me feel special. When I was sixteen and kind of an outsider in my high school because we had moved to this small town only two years prior, she threw a big birthday party for me.  We were dirt poor. I mean the type of poor where neighbors send over donations because they know you're hungry. She arranged for the teenage neighbor boy to be a DJ, and we had homemade snacks and punch.  That night, I felt like I had broken through the stranger-wall with the kids from my high school.  I still remember feeling pretty darn cool, dancing with a boy who became my boyfriend for the next few weeks. 

PANICKING

One funny but could have been a horrendous story that I look back on with awe is the time my mom took an auto repair course at the local community college.  I believe she got to attend free through some sort of program.  We couldn't afford a new car, so her plan was to replace the engine in our car herself for very little money.  She aced the class (did I tell you she was tested at 145 IQ) and began the project in our back yard.  The part I remember is the day when the engine was ready to start.  She had gas in it and all was primed to ignite. 

I was in fourth or fifth grade at the time, so even though I tried to start the car, I couldn't.  So, she had me get out and look under the hood while she turned the key.  We were elated when it turned over and purred. That was when I noticed water coming from a loose hose.  I called out to her but was too late! 

The engine caught on fire. I had some singed hair but mom without too much panic turned off the engine, got the water hose, and quickly extinguished the fire.  Unfortunately, the car was a total loss. Looking back at this event as an adult, I'm amazed that none of us panicked. 

ACCESSING

It was soon after my 16th birthday party when she really began to let her mental illness show more and more through the cracks.  Looking back, as I was making friends and groups outside of our home more and more, I think she knew she'd done all she could do to grow me. 

We had begun to fight more.  She was upset that I was choosing my friends and school over her.  She was also sinking more and more into bizarre behavior.  She'd go on frenetic shopping sprees using store credit that she couldn't pay off.  She'd only buy things that were bargain-basement deals, but she'd buy so many things (all for her dream of running a home for wayward boys). She'd spend days upon days on the couch.  My sister and I would make "meals" and try to keep up with the housework.  But being we didn't have a washing machine that worked, dirty clothes piled up. By the end, dirty dishes covered the counters and filled the sinks. She'd ask me to rub her feet or play with her hair. I would do it dutifully for what seemed like hours. Boy, I was so angry at her not taking care of us.  I didn't know anything about anything back then.

One Sunday after church, we were invited to my youth group leaders' home for lunch.  During the adult talk, my mom went into a psychotic episode. (My sister and I had known of these times but didn't know that we should seek help for her.) Due to her threatening to hurt herself, the police came.  She was taken to live at the state hospital (now defunct) in Kalamazoo.

1980-My sister and I visit my mom at Kalamazoo Psychiatric  Hospital.
She was pretty vacant and zombie-like
due to all the medication that they had her take.

It was there that they accessed her mental health. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia and bipolar with delusions of grandeur. She remained in the care of the state from then until 1989 when she was allowed to get her own apartment. Being I had gotten married in 1985 and was living on the other side of the state with babies and working as hard as a new teacher, we didn't see each other a lot. The last time we were together, just us, was soon after my son was born in December of 1990. My sister and her husband were able to pick her up and bring her to our house for a Christmas celebration. It was an uneventful, calm, normal family get-together. Everything I had always hoped for.

She called me on my birthday. I always got a tensed-up stomach whenever I heard her voice on the other end of the line, thinking something was wrong. All I remember from that conversation was that she sounded happy.

It was May 31st, nine days later, that my uncle called to let me know that my grandmother, who had driven over to my mom's apartment to pick her up for a pre-planned outing, had found her body lying in the shag carpet. While I never saw the scene, the image is ingrained in my mind based on the few details he provided. She left a simple, yet powerful note.

I Still Miss Her

Our relationship was turbulent, to say the least. But 29 years later, I still miss her deeply. I think I've lived my life trying to save those I care about through my roles as daughter, mom, friend, granddaughter, teacher, and ... I realize that my greatest fear is I am not enough to save those who need saving.

In Memorial to Joanne Kathryn Sherwood-My Mom

I ask that you talk openly with the ones around you. I ask that if you need help, you seek it.  That if you can give help to someone who isn't asking, do it. During this time of pandemic quarantine, especially, check-in with one another. There are so many who are hurting and not doing well.  There's more than just the virus that is deadly.

If you or someone you know needs help, here are a few resources (in the USA):

• Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration
• National Institute of Mental Health
• The 9 Best Online Therapy Programs of 2020

The format for this post is thanks to A Chronic Voice link-up. This month, the topics were foreseeing, panicking, upbringing, accessing, and soothing. Each writer takes the given topics and gives them their own spin. Check out these wonderful writers at May 2020 Linkup (scroll past the prompts to find the linked up posts).

Thank you for visiting my blog today. 

I am committing to posting once a week on Fridays.  

However, as you know, my new normal means that sometimes 

I have to listen to my body and am not able to follow through 

as planned. 

Thank you for your understanding.

Click link Subscribe to Pain FULLY Living Weekly Posts by Email

The Danger of Distraction: Turning Toward Pain to Eliminate Suffering

As we are all hunkered down at home, figuring out what to do with all our extra, unstructured time has been a hot topic.  Posts share activities to do alone, with our children, with others outside of our walls via technology tools such as Zoom (live meditation, book club, or family talk sessions), YouTube (online Tai Chi, house concerts, book readings), and Board Game Arena (where you can play board games online with people all over the world). 

I have friends posting the latest puzzle they've completed, new drinks they concocted with special COVID-19 satirical names, socks they've knitted, and latest movie marathon or binge-worthy show they have found.

While all of these things are wonderful, and I am so thankful to have so many options for how to spend my days while at home, I have come also to understand that it can be detrimental as well. I'm sure I'm not alone when I share that I've been feeling emotional pain (anxiety and sadness) along with physical pain-Fibromyalgia muscle and joint pain all over my body that flares up in roving areas throughout the day. When I experience pain, my goal is to always get rid of it.  I see it as bad and not a feeling I want around.  If I can be distracted from it, I chose that.

Distraction from Pain Doesn't Heal Pain

If you've been following my blog, you know that I've been taking an online Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) meditation course through palousemindfulness.com. (To get a background for what I'm doing, check out this post Mind Over Matter: 21 Days of Meditation.) During week 5, I was introduced to a woman who has had a lifetime of severe pain (physical and mental), Vidyamala Burch, who has created a mindfulness program to live well with pain. She explains in her book Living Well With Pain and Illness, "When you bring awareness and curiosity to the actual experience of pain, often you find that it's not as bad as you feared."

The focus of my last two weeks has been to use meditation when I'm not feeling well (physical pain or emotional pain) to then TURN TOWARDS pain. I also just finished reading The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F@#!$ by Mark Mason which hammered in the same premise. "In every case, we can choose to avoid our pain or choose to engage our pain. When we avoid our pain, we suffer. When we engage our pain, we grow," states Mason in his blog post My Life Philosophy.

"We suffer for the simple reason that suffering 
is biologically useful. It is nature’s preferred agent 
for inspiring change." -Mark Manson 

During my studies this past week, I was introduced to the idea of the Felt Sense which is a concept that describes internal bodily awareness that arises from increased awareness.  Basically, it is a turning towards the sensations in our body (often difficult to describe) to bring them to consciousness.  Manson suggests, "We suffer for the simple reason that suffering is biologically useful. It is nature’s preferred agent for inspiring change."

  

Much like the Disney movie Wall-e shows, if we were always content with no problems or pain, we'd also become complacent. With pain and need, comes innovation and solution. I'm sure if I had not developed Fibromyalgia, for example, I would not be here writing, researching, digging into knowing more about what makes me tick. I was pretty content to ignore myself.  But my 'self' wasn't having any of that. The poem, The Felt Sense Prayer, concretely illustrates how the human mind and body work together not only to protect us but to grow us.

It's a longer read, but so worth it.

Tara Brach, Psychologist, Author, Teacher, 
reads this poem and shares how she 
came to turn towards her own pain. 

Manson contends, "Like physical pain, our psychological pain is an indication of something out of equilibrium, some limitation that has been exceeded." If we then focus into that pain, becoming aware it's there, we are then able to come back to balance.  

Burch has created a 5-Step process to turn towards our pain so that we can live FULLY. "... the only authentic and sustainable way to be fully alive is to be open to all life's moments, not just the ones I prefer," she explains.  This life is short; I want to live as fully and as authentically as possible.  My years of ignoring, blocking, and last year this time, drowning in pain, has brought about a sense of discord between my body and mind.  These past three weeks of consciously turning toward pain (emotional and physical), I am noticing a sense of ease and balance blossoming within. 

Step One: Awareness

Meditation is just taking time to focus inward. For me, I focus on the feel of my breath coming in through my nostrils, down my windpipe, and into my diaphragm like a cool, silky ribbon.  Then, at the turning point of exhaling, I follow it's warmth in reverse; inevitably, my body releases a bit more into the bed, mat, chair as I do this. Getting distracted is natural. Burch explains, "You'll probably find yourself caught up in distractions hundreds of times a day, but choosing awareness even once is a victory, no matter how fleeting that moment may be." So, I've learned not to criticize myself for having a monkey-brain, but to notice and celebrate when I realize I'm off my focus point and come back to it. 

Step Two: Turn Toward the Pain

This is the time when I pick out one thing to focus on. Maybe the aching, burning pain deep in my left thigh or the tight, weighted feeling in my chest that shows up when I'm anxious. As I continue breathing, I focus on the feeling, imagining the breath to reach right there.  I may even put my hand on the main area. And then, I work to notice the sensation, being as descriptive as possible: burning, aching, sharp, sadness, loneliness, etc.  My meditation teacher, Dave Potter, says to say "I notice that there's something in me that has the feeling......" This wording allows me not to identify myself as this difficult feeling but to acknowledge that it is there.  I notice the area, size, shape, and texture of the sensation.  Sometimes it is thin and blanket-like, resting almost overtop of me. Other times, it seems to be rounded and blobby, thick as a donut. It can be sharp and hard or dull and wooden or elastic and ropey. I notice my feelings about this sensation. At this point, I work to soften my approach to it; allowing it to be.  Treating it and myself as I would a child who was hurt, being gentle and loving.

Step Three: Seeking the Pleasant

Breathing into the difficult sensations, accepting them as they are, I begin to notice minute changes in the feelings. Then, I begin to scan my body.  Starting at my toes and slowly scanning to the top of my head, I search for a pleasant sensation. At first, I really didn't get this. I have pain all the time in nearly every part of my body. However, with practice, I've gotten better at noticing the little pleasant tingle in my earlobe, or the buttery softness of the blanket that's covering me. This is not a distraction of positivity as Burch explains, "This attitude of sensitivity, openness, and honesty to the whole of your experience, including your pain, now allows you to gently turn to the pleasant aspects of the moment that have been there all along, just outside your field of awareness. You can feel stable and whole, rather than grasping for pleasure to avoid your pain."

Step Four: Broadening Focus to Develop Equanimity

At this point, after about twenty or more minutes in the above three stages, I spread my focus to encompass my whole body (noticing the pleasant and difficult sensation is still there).  Widening out, much like you do when you zoom out in Google Maps.  Focusing then on the room I'm in, still noticing my body's sensations, then widening out to the neighborhood, town, and world.  This seemed like a hoaky part of the turn towards meditation; however, I'm beginning to understand and assimilate that this is the time I realize I'm not alone in this.  I am reminded that pain is a part of the human experience. This leads to acceptance and non-judgment of my situation (equanimity).

Step Five: Learning to Respond Rather Than Reacting

I can choose my response to whatever difficult feelings I'm experiencing.  I can choose to accept and soften into it, being loving and gentle with myself. "Rather than feeling your pain is right on top of you and you're trapped in a battle that leaves no space to choose your response, you can find ways to respond creatively to any circumstances with a soft and pliant heart," teaches Brach.
This is not magic.  It takes practice, over and over.  I'll notice, hey my throat feels tight and achy.  When that happens, taking time to Turn Towards right then, makes this a choice that gets easier and easier. And as I am finding, more effective each time. 

Vidyamala Burch explains how she's learned to manage her own pain through meditation and breathwork. (21 minutes) 

Helpful Resources:

• MBSR Week 5 with Dave Potter
• Here are two (audio) guided meditations by Dave Potter that I have used again and again: Difficult Physical Pain & Difficult Emotional Pain 
• Vidyamal Burch's 5 Step Model of Mindfulness
• The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F#@$%- Yes, he liberally uses the F-bomb, but it makes sense for the point he's making.

How do you handle difficult feelings/sensations? What do you think of Vidyamal's method of turning towards pain to live more fully?

Thank you for visiting my blog today. 

I am committing to posting once a week on Fridays.  

However, as you know, my new normal means that sometimes 

I have to listen to my body and am not able to follow through as planned. 

Thank you for your understanding.

Click link Subscribe to Pain FULLY Living Weekly Posts by Email

It's Harder Alone; We Need Community to Thrive

Belonging to a community has been a driving part of my entire life.  As a child, I went to nearly every summer church program (partially because my mom couldn't afford daycare) because I just loved that week of being a part of a special group: knowing the special song's words and hand motions, sharing in stories, munching on little sugar cookies and red punch around a small table with this temporary community. Working as a camp counselor, not only did I find a temporary community to live with, but I met my best friend and my future husband. In college, I connected to a small group of friends (most I still have today) and sought out others from my classes that shared similar goals. I studied to become a teacher; my schools had been major sources of community for me growing up and I longed to continue to be a part of it. When my husband and I chose the home we'd live in for our retirement years, I fell in love with a new development that was built on a former site of a summer camp, creating a built-in community of people to connect with.

Emma Seppälä Ph.D. explains in PSYCHOLOGY TODAY "Connect to Thrive", 2012  "Social connection strengthens our immune system..., helps us recover from disease faster, and may even lengthen our life." On an emotional level, "People who feel more connected to others have lower rates of anxiety and depression." 

People who feel more connected to others have lower rates of anxiety and depression."  Too many of us pull in and away when we aren't feeling well.  Seppälä goes on to explain that a study conducted in 2006 showed that social connectedness is rapidly declining in the lives of those living in the United States. The report states that in 1985 Americans had on average three people they felt connected to on a deep level and in 2004 that number dropped to only one, with 25% of respondents saying they have no one to confide in.

Nearly, one year ago to the day, I was yanked from my school community, after 32 years, very unceremoniously.  That's the way I felt when I went onto long-term leave and then into retirement last June; my whole life as an educator just ended.  It was really difficult knowing I wouldn't be an integral part of my teaching community anymore.  (I still am having dreams a few times a month where I go into school, knowing I no longer work there, trying to give my input on the things I know are going on, then realizing that my ideas aren't needed any longer.) 

Not only did I abruptly stop being a part of my teaching community, but I also began to really pull away from everyone.  Mostly, because I felt so horrible, I just didn't have anything to give to my family and friends.  A new trend began, me canceling plans to go out, to getting together, to calling, to responding, even to posting and responding on Facebook. And within my solitude, I felt invisible and increasingly sad.  

The night before Thanksgiving last year, I was invited to a breathwork workshop at a yoga studio in a town near 20 minutes away from my home.  I felt like @#$%, but the task was to get there and then lay down, bolstered by support pillows and wrapped in blankets like a cacoon.  I didn't have it in me to drive, so my husband drove and visited with our daughter who lives in that town.  

Joan, the owner of Branch Out Yoga in Fremont, MI,
 intentionally creates a place for community. 

Upon walking in the yoga studio, the sweet smells from the essential oil mixture and the brewing tea greeted me, calming me.  Inside the entry, I was welcomed by several smiling, chattering people scattered throughout the India-infused, boho space.  I felt like I was walking into someone's home. 

Breath Work Session with Panacea Breath led by Candence and Ross Zigenthaler.

At the end of the three-hour session, I felt more energetic and positive than I had in a while.  I vowed to start coming to this place and be a part of this community. Even though it took me a while to get consistent in attending, I began to feel the support and positive energy from the people through this place. The owner of the studio purposefully sets up a place that would keep people there after class to share in community through talk and tea. 

Slowly, my husband and I are making new connections in communities that we are interested in being a part of now that we are retired.  We've met other couples interested in getting out-of-doors: hiking, kayaking, snowshoeing, etc. Also, as the development that we live in has more homeowners living here, we are beginning to get to know them through organized activities that generally involve food. Recently, I've connected with a few other writers who have shared some nuts and bolts of the process of writing, helping me to feel like writing is something not only do I want to do but am able to do.

Through my blogging, I've become connected to others in the Fibromyalgia and chronic mental and physical illness communities.  I find that communication through online forums is very important for me.  At times, I'm learning something new; other times, I contribute something to a discussion that helps someone else.  In the past couple of weeks, I've even gotten some much-appreciated kudos from others in the community for my writing, which really helped to get me back at the keyboard.

When we are in pain or not feeling well, often our first reaction is to pull away from all our communities. I know it takes great energy that you just don't have.  However, as I have learned both from my therapy and from my experiences, the more I pull away the darker I get.  The more I push in, doing only what I can at that time, the better I begin to feel.  The light from others is contagious.  

So, at this time of the holidays, when things can get really overwhelming, I suggest that we connect with those communities that build us up.  And that we keep this going throughout the year. 

How can I connect with a community when I'm not feeling well?

• On line communities in areas of your interest or experiences can be really good.  (For me, I work to only participate in ones that are uplifting.  I want to share the real, but I don't want to dwell in negatives all the time which a few groups I joined and then dropped did.) For me: The Mighty (mental wellness group), FIBRO CONNECT on Facebook, North Country Trail Community on Facebook, and Twitter (following only those I want in my community: teachers, librarians, authors, and those with chronic pain).  
• Pen-pal or phone-pal arrangement can reconnect to those you can't see regularly.  For me writing back and forth (generally online) with a friend is really fulfilling.  Recently, I connected back with my friend by setting up a weekly call date (being she works at home we generally connect in the morning for about an hour).  I can't say how wonderful that sharing time is. Talking using video (whatever tool you chose to use) brings you loving faces along with your conversation.
• Ask around about smaller groups in your area that do things you are interested in.  I've found wonderful groups of people who love to get outside, paint, play the ukelele, eat vegan, etc. (Many share rides, etc. if you aren't up to or able to drive.)
• Stick close to your closest family and friends.  They totally get it if you're not feeling well.  My family has always done impromptu get-togethers where we either meet at a restaurant or go to someone's home with each of us bringing something to eat. Very low-key and low-stress.
• Go to businesses that create community: yoga studios, some gyms (especially if you go to the same classes at the same times), even some restaurants (early breakfast groups), and some shops (art studio, knitting & quilting stores, bookstores, etc.) that allow you to hang out and learn from one another. 
• Volunteer (this can be done on a regular or more flexible schedule which I like) for places that build community: hiking trail care groups, homes for senior citizens, schools, libraries,  etc.  

My wish for you (and for me) as we are beginning this time of winter hibernation is that we stay connected.  Through our communities, we are revived, strengthened, honed, and loved.

What are ways you connect?  What are your obstacles?  What are the benefits you get by being connected with others?

Thank you for visiting my blog today. 

I am committing to posting once a week on Fridays.  However, as you know,

my new normal means that some times I have to listen to my body and am

not able to follow through as planned. Thank you for your understanding.

Click link Subscribe to Pain FULLY Living Weekly Posts by Email