Relationships Archives - Page 16 of 23

The CT scan to diagnose my ruptured appendix this July showed up a shadow on my liver. The attending doctor suggested I follow up with an abdominal ultrasound to see if it was something or nothing.

I went for the ultrasound and was there a long time. I took this as a good sign as it seemed like the technician was hunting for something and couldn’t seem to find it.

Then the doctor’s office called to ask me to come in for results. “It’s not urgent,” she said. I convinced myself that it was all fine.

But when I went to see the doctor, it wasn’t fine. Instead of one shadow, there were now seven. They could be benign cysts, there all along and simply not visible in the appendix CT, or what was one concerning spot has now grown to seven in a matter of two months.

I left the clinic with my heart sitting like lead in my chest, clutching my next ultrasound order for a month from now to see what’s going on then. I know this could be a lot of fuss over nothing, but I also know that it could be something quite scary and uncertain. There’s nothing I can do but wait.

Letting go of my ardent desire to know everything now is a lifelong struggle. When I was so sick in the hospital, willing myself to stop puking after surgery, I learned kicking and screaming to take each moment as it comes instead of pre-ordaining what I want to happen.

I vowed I would keep this mentality in my regular life. I felt desperate for my appendix rupture and bumpy recovery to mean something. It was huge and monumental and powerfully affecting and I longed for those changes to stay with me. To change me.

But life has been on fast forward as we prepare to take possession of our new house in BC, and it’s been too easy for me to fall back into old habits. I spend so damn much time forecasting and not enough time remaining open to whatever possibility will present itself next. Why was I so sure the doctor would say this shadow was nothing to worry about? Is that my coping mechanism to hedge against disaster?

Like all of us, I have no choice but to keep going. The sun will rise and it will set. My kids will make me laugh, Jason will reach for my hand, I’ll eat popcorn and watch Netflix. What we have is the moment we are in. The job is to stay present, within ourselves and with those we love most.

It’s okay to be scared and sad and unsure. I’m grateful to have a tribe of friends that I can reach out to and they don’t offer me false hope. They say, “We love you, we are with you, we will help you carry this so you don’t feel alone.” They remind me that I am strong and brave and that I can do hard things. This helps tremendously to lighten the load.

I can’t control the rest, but I can be kind and gentle to myself every day and search for the smallest ray of hope in the unlikely and most beautiful of places.

In Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Writing

4 Essential Things

Julianne HarveyOctober 4, 2016October 3, 2016Leave a comment

I’m in love with this Minimalist Mantra, courtesy of Joshua Becker from Becoming Minimalist. In it, he suggests listing 4 essential things in your life, doing them first and stop doing the non-essential. Wise words.

Reading this mantra got me thinking about my 4 essential things. I’m sure they will be different from yours, but as every one of us strives for meaning in our short but important lives, I long to focus on these areas and hope this list will help me say yes to what matters and no to what doesn’t.

My 4 Essential Things

1. Health

I realized this summer in the hospital that my health is a necessity, not a luxury. If you are like me, you tend to go along your merry way taking your health for granted until you have a crisis. Then everything crystallizes and you see clearly how challenging it is to make any other goals happen if you are struggling to get out of bed each day. So much of this life is out of our direct control, but doing the best I can to remain healthy is under my control. I have a renewed appreciation for daily walks, eating well, light weightlifting, meditating and other forms of self care to do my best to stay healthy enough to pursue the other essential parts of my existence.

2. Family and Friends

What is all of our striving for? At the end of the day, I want my closest relationships on this earth to be meaningful. In order for that to happen, I must be vulnerable with those I love, sharing the best parts of myself as well as the worst. Life is too short to pretend. I don’t want to be afraid of being honest and authentic. I want to jump in with both feet and to offer my top energies and resources to the people I’ve committed to. Making time for the kind of friends who encourage, support and care for me is important to me. I don’t need a ton of friends; just ones that increase my joy, give me stomach pain from belly laughing, and have proved themselves reliable. My tribe makes life more fun and also comforts when trouble comes knocking. I must invest in them and allow them to invest in me.

3. Writing

Writing is like breathing to me. I often don’t know how I feel about something until I put pen to paper (or start typing on my MacBook) and then I get my “aha!” moment of clarity and light. I long to say no to everything that doesn’t involve writing and yes to everything that gets me closer to my dream of signing with an agent, having a traditional book deal, increasing the speaking I’m doing on various topics, and my longest-held goal of selling a screenplay and being a part of the film industry. Focus involves turning away from the good to concentrate on the best. This is part of my 4 essential things and something I plan to zero in on.

4. Nurture

This is a big word that covers a lot of territory. For me, it means self care first, something relatively new to me, and after this it involves caring well for others. I think I’m naturally good at this, but part of my journey of self-growth and discovery has been about setting boundaries so I can nurture more effectively without burning out or blazing with resentment and unacknowledged rage. I’m seeing encouraging progress in this area but like all self-improvement, I have more ground to cover. I’ve worked hard to reveal my soft core of compassion and unconditional love by clearing a lot of unhealthy habits out of the way, but making nurture one of my essential 4 things will help me carve out time and space for this priority.

What are your 4 essential things?

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Navigating Transition

Julianne HarveySeptember 27, 2016Leave a comment

Do you ever feel like you are swimming and swimming but you aren’t actually gaining any distance? You are simply treading water. Not drowning, so that’s positive, but not exactly setting any performance records.

What is this damn obsession I have with being impressive? Why isn’t it enough to do the best I can in my own small world for those I love without seeking a grandiose level of some invisible acclaim which probably wouldn’t make a bit of difference to me even if I did receive it?

I long to pull back the focus of my life, to go from wide lens to a smaller, more pointed perspective. When I was in the hospital last month it became easy to see what really mattered. I made a set of decisions then to let go of the stupid, piddly shit that hangs me up on the regular.

But now life is back to normal and those niggling insecurities are creeping back. I am aware of them, which is a healthy sign, but I hate wasting any energy on them when I feel like I settled this issue while at my worst in an uncomfortable hospital bed.

As a family, we are in the midst of of big life transition as we move from one province to another. It’s messy, uncertain, wonderful and frustrating as hell. For the most part, the kids have both excelled, managing a ton of upheaval with grace and good humour.

I’ve done well too, provided I don’t creep the performance bar ever higher for myself. When that starts to happen, I’m sunk. Gentleness is the key here. The goal is to enjoy life. To laugh and to build in time to rest. To work, steadily and slowly, without expecting fireworks every day. To show up. To be patient.

Transition is challenging. It requires a lot from us. Managing my own expectations is a full-time endeavour. I have to remember that I’m likely doing better than I think I am. It’s not as fucking difficult as I make it out to be.

So we continue. One foot in front of the other. The sun sets and rises the next morning, offering us yet another chance to learn what we can from the unique journey we are on. Process takes a lot of time. The seeds don’t bloom unless they are tended, and flowers never appear overnight. We have no choice but to struggle through the hard times to make it to the easier ones.

In Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships

Intentional Vulnerability

Julianne HarveySeptember 6, 20161 Comment

I was twitchy all day Saturday because Jason and I had scheduled a date to “reconnect”. This meant intentional vulnerability, a state many of us love when it’s over and fear before it begins.

Sharing our soul openly with another person is an act of sheer courage. What we say can be misconstrued, rejected, lost in the other person’s point of view or belief system. Even when we sit down for an enchilada dinner with the person we love most in the world, practicing intentional vulnerability is a risky proposition.

I’m happy to say it went remarkably well. I shed a few tears, asked him to keep driving when we arrived at the restaurant because I was in full flow (and it’s easier to pour out my heart when I’m not making direct eye contact), said more than I had rehearsed but somehow it was better that way.

We’ve had a turbulent summer. New job for Jason, appendix rupture for me, far more question marks than exclamation points when it comes to where we will live and how we will solve a host of complicated problems. At the end of the day, none of that matters as much as who we are in our relationship together.

Are we kind to one another or do we take our stress out on each other? Are we considerate of what the other person needs or are we lost in our own sense of entitlement? Do we compete for who has it the worst or do we support each other in the hardest moments?

The answer, of course, is somewhere in between these extremes. To be married is to be in a constant state of flux. When one of us is calm, the other is tense. When one is confident, the other is a mess. It’s a seesaw where we do our best to balance out each other.

Jason has proven, again and again, that he is trustworthy when I open my heart to him, but every time I still feel afraid. Vulnerability is a powerful force to unite people when it works, but when it fails it feels terribly isolating and scary.

By the end of our delicious Mexican meal, we both felt closer, happier, more united. We want this season of struggle to mean something. We prefer to allow it to change us, from the inside out, so we are different as a result. Neither of us want to return to normal life without acknowledging that a significant shift has occurred.

Every time intentional vulnerability works the way it’s meant to, I’m a convert all over again. I long to grow all of my relationships in this way, but vulnerability is a two-way street. Both people have to buy in to this soul-to-soul spark.

If you tend to hold back, find a safe person and give it a try. Let yourself truly be seen for who you really are. Bring up your big fears, regrets, pain. If the other person proves worthy of this gift, you will experience a true connection that will go far above and beyond anything that skims along the surface and you’ll see how valuable intentional vulnerability can be.

In Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Writing

Liminal Space

Julianne HarveyAugust 30, 2016August 29, 2016Leave a comment

Do you ever have trouble finding the words for the big conversations? You know, the ones where you long to communicate some deep truth, pulled from the centre of your being with a huge effort, where it feels like you are standing completely naked in front of the other person?

I’m struggling with this. I feel so utterly changed by the last four weeks of my life, but yet unable to properly talk about it with those I love most. I’ve turtled up inside, processing and going dark to the outside world.

This is likely a necessary step, and healthy, but it’s also a tiny bit isolating. It creates a gap between you and the people in your life. I know I have the right to say I’m not ready to talk about things, and this might be the best solution until I feel more sure of what it is I want to say, but the big conversations in life always leave me slightly terrified.

So much of our existence is regular routine. Only when it’s disrupted do we see things in a new way. And we realize that we are also irrevocably altered.

I learned this phrase from Rob Bell’s recent podcast on Seasons (and if you aren’t listening to all of Rob Bell’s podcasts, please rectify this immediately as they will immensely improve your quality of life): liminal space. It means the middle space; when one stage is completed and the next has yet to begin.

I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear the phrase “liminal space”. I love it and plan to overuse it from this point forward. It explains so much of that waiting bit at the centre of big change. It’s transition, uncertainty, fear, loss, excitement. You know you don’t want to go back but you can’t quite move forward as the next chapter hasn’t revealed itself.

Perhaps it’s not a good idea to commit to much in the liminal space. It’s for waiting and growing and shifting. It requires an openness to what will now be different. We can’t forecast what the next season will look like while we are still moving through the loss of what came before. We simply have to wait.

Have I mentioned that I hate waiting? This appendectomy and its long, slow crawl back to my previous healthy state has invited me every single day to be patient. To stop accomplishing and just sit in my new and tired state in my comfy shorts that don’t hurt my stitches. The whole world seems different as a result. It may still be whizzing by, along with everyone around me, but I am in a separate place and I can’t keep up. Nor do I really want to.

I do feel marked in some invisible way. I can see it, but no one else really can. I guess the prescription is more waiting. I must allow this growth to bud in its own time. There is no point to rushing it or shouting something from the rooftops that I barely understand for myself. Some things should be private, particularly in the liminal space.

If you are in a transition point right now, let’s wait it out together. We can reassure each other that we won’t be in this middle space forever. The new season will begin to take shape. We will survive the transition. We have the ability to let go of the last place where we were either happy or sad (or more likely a mix of both). It will simply take a little bit of time. Sit with me in the garden and we’ll encourage each other through this liminal space.

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