Julianne Harvey

When I’m afraid, it helps to follow the advice I regularly give to my son William when he begins a panic attack: breathe slowly, bring yourself back to your body, stay in the present moment, repeat to yourself, “I am safe.”

Most of what worries us lives either in the future or the past. It’s fear over a potential outcome that might never materialize or regret over something already done. If we make an effort to exist in the present moment, with all of its attendant feelings, sensations and realities, we have a better chance of staying calm and collected.

The question I’m trying to ask myself is: what is under my actual control? We all know that our response to any situation is completely up to us, but practicing this while under stress is still challenging. Our minds nose way down the road, anticipating poverty, relationship conflict, uncertainty, loneliness. It’s easy to become overwhelmed.

The key is to bring my focus back to the present moment. To breathe. To imagine myself as safe, cared for, loved…as I can provide these things for myself. Prepping for doomsday scenarios only increases the chaotic sense of panic. Whatever comes, each one of us will have no choice but to deal with it.

Imagining stress is optional, facing reality is not. We are better off working to remain calm and stable, so we are in a more secure mental space to handle misfortune if it should arrive. And it helps to remember that most of what we worry about never actually happens.

Good things are just as likely to occur as horrible ones. Most of our problems originate in our minds, because we long for a specific outcome and anything other than that brings us grave disappointment and loss, even if it was only a vague possibility instead of an actual reality. Damn this internal pessimism of mine, this infernal waiting for the other shoe to drop which ruins even the happiest of days.

I should know by now that the doom and gloom I forecast usually disappears with time. If I allow a little light and air on it, I’ll watch it vaporize. Old habits like shame, depression and fear roar back into life if we let them, for they’ve worn a deep, familiar groove in our subconscious. I have healthier skills available to me, such as trust in myself and others, a newly-kindled optimism, the ability to set a long-term goal and work patiently at reaching it.

Where it all falls apart is the intersection with other people, for I cannot control what others do and say. But I am not responsible for the actions of other people. I must simply observe what they do (or fail to do) and then respond in the healthiest way I can. The stress of others does not have to become my reality. Only if I let it. I can come up with a happier strategy. The critical thing is to be clear on what’s mine and what isn’t – a lifelong struggle for me but one I have to keep working on.

In Identity, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Spiritual Life

What is Hard for You?

Julianne HarveyFebruary 2, 2016February 2, 2016Leave a comment

We have a key jar (courtesy of our friends at Momastery) that we pull out at supper. In the key jar are a variety of open-ended questions designed to get us talking about more meaningful subjects. The kids love it and so do I (I’m pretty sure Jason tolerates it).

I’ve been thinking a lot about one of the recent questions Ava drew out and read: What is one thing that’s hard for you? A few of the answers around the table were “patience”, “being wrong” and “trying new things”. I said, “Watching people do stupid, mean or irresponsible things and not getting involved.”

Asking ourselves this question, “What is hard for you?” helps us get at our blind spots; those areas of weakness we paper over and pretend they aren’t there. Denial is a powerful force. It protects us from pain, but it also keeps us a prisoner of our own bullshit, making it impossible to move forward unless we summon enough courage to face it.

Letting air and light on our greatest areas of shame give us an invitation to grow. We begin to see where improvement is needed and this helps us outline what to work on in our daily lives. For me, I must practice letting go of any misguided notions of control. It’s egotistical for me to assume I know what’s best for someone else. I simply do not have that kind of reach, power or influence.

I must learn to stop obsessing or worrying about what other people are doing. It’s none of my business. If I am asked to help, I can decide at that point if I want to offer assistance. But if I am not asked (which is most of the time), I do not need to trouble myself with any swirling drama, chaos or fall-out from the life choices of other people.

It seems freeing to state it like that – a marvel of healthy boundaries. It’s not so clear-cut or easy to carry out in regular life. I get angry too fast over perceived injustices, frustrating parenting examples, a stranger’s rudeness in a store. Perhaps the only thing I can do is take a long, deep breath and clarify again that I am not the moral conscience of the universe.

As the recovery movement so succinctly declares: Let it begin with me. I must be the change I wish to see in the world. It’s obnoxious for me to tell other people what they are doing wrong, for after all, this is only my opinion and therefore highly subjective.

I rarely tell people how much they annoy me, which I can slot in the “win” column. But I lose too much of my energy, joy and peace thinking about situations that are not my direct responsibility. Bringing this up at dinner has clarified the need for me to put effort into this area.

Strengthening my boundaries is a worthwhile goal, so I can focus on my own priorities instead of worrying about messes and problems I had no hand in creating. Bringing these buried and dusty weaknesses to the light is a painful process, but it gives us a road map to follow when it comes to our own emotional health.

How about you? What is one thing that is hard for you?

In Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Writing

Not Responsible for the Outcome

Julianne HarveyJanuary 26, 2016April 24, 2016Leave a comment

Last week I had a profound epiphany. Not the kind that happens in the cold, clinical brain, but the one that settles gently with a thud in the centre of your being, where your experience dwells.

I was getting ready for bed, puttering around applying Flexitol on my heels to prevent cracking and putting Blistex on my lips, when this crystal clear phrase landed in my spirit: I am not responsible for the outcome. Instantly, these seven words loosened something that had been jammed up inside of me. I felt lighter, more whole, complete. I began to cry, equally grateful for the revelation and the fact that Jason was out of town so I could work through this on my own while crawling into bed.

All good epiphanies have a lot of significant moments leading up to them. Without these preparatory steps, the big paradigm shift wouldn’t carry as much weight. My breadcrumbs included this podcast from Rob Bell, this kind comment on my blog, this tweet from an author I respect, and this beautiful post by Glennon Doyle Melton.

I’ve been struggling for a few weeks with a sense of purpose in my writing. I’ve been unmoored, adrift, afraid. This fog had nothing to do with the work itself, but everything to do with how others reacted (or didn’t react) to the product I put out into the world. I got mired in the familiar self-doubts, the ones that taunt, “You are wasting your time. Go do something better with your life. You’re never going to get anywhere with the type of writing you do. It has no meaning for anyone but you.”

Most of us face these soul-crushing thoughts from time to time. For me, it rips at a very old and weak scar in my psyche. I want to protect that wound at all costs because it didn’t heal properly and will throb like hell if I allow any air on it. This one goes way back to early childhood, filed in the YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH folder. It’s soaked in shame and regret. I don’t want to look at it and I sure don’t want to show it to anyone else.

But to heal it, I know that I have to face it. So Jason went out of town for a week and I used the time on my own to stare this beast down; to intentionally stop running from my fear of scarcity and instead list why I do what I do. I made a long list of my career priorities, then knocked out one after another until I could see the core. I brought my three priority words for 2016 back to the forefront of my life – strong, clear, optimistic – and made sure they fit with the writing, speaking, nurturing and innovating goals I identified as most important.

All of this led to the revelation that I am not responsible for the outcome. My job is to follow my curiosity, be true to myself and my vision for the work I’m doing, and then let go of it. I love it when Glennon says it’s not our job as writers to defend our art. We write because we have an innate need to create, but then we must let go of what happens to it out in the world.

For the new forms I’m experimenting with, particularly Literary Salons and my Nurture is Valuable project, I’ve done my part if I show up and do my best to connect people in a meaningful way. That’s it – that’s all I can do. The rest is not up to me. Knowing this is true in my very bones and marrow suddenly makes it fun and simple again. I feel refreshed, happy, ready to rock and roll.

I’m responsible to show up and do the work. Everyone else is responsible for the outcome.

In Identity, Personal Growth, Relationships, Writing

The Shift

Julianne HarveyJanuary 19, 2016January 17, 2016Leave a comment

When a shift in how we understand something happens, it’s often unsettling. It’s a private thing, especially at first, because it takes time to understand what’s changed and until we get clearer, we find it hard to talk about it.

This is a normal part of change, but I really do hate it. I’m trying to come to terms with that off-putting sensation of not quite belonging anywhere. I feel like I’m at odds with myself when I’m sorting through these rough patches. The work is all internal and therefore not easy to categorize or understand, and so a certain loneliness tinges the entire process.

I love the epiphany itself and I’ve been through this enough to know that the eventual result will be worth it. But that damn middle section is a huge pain.

It helps to realize that privately nurturing these small seeds of growth is both valuable and important. It’s part of the process. The challenging bit is seeing the world in a different way, but still living as if the epiphany hadn’t occurred. It requires patience to manage these shifts in understanding. We have to be gentle with ourselves, the way we would treat a child going through a major transition.

I get trapped up in the middle sections of change. I feel lost, bereft, alone. It’s easy to feel misunderstood, like the ground is no longer solid under your feet but it’s not quite clear where your next step should take you.

I know that something big is happening for me in these uncertain places. I’ve been here before and I’m certain I’ll be here again. Anyone willing to risk by growing and changing will feel some of this unsettled discomfort. It’s the stretch before the new thing fully reveals itself. It gets dark in this unfamiliar terrain, with accusing doubts whispered into your ear. “Who are you to try for this? No one else thinks this is a good idea! If this was so great, more people would be on board.”

When we make decisions based on what other people might say, we are sunk before we get moving. It’s a losing game, and I know this, but far too often I start to play it when the doubts get loud. The key is to stay the course, to allow the passion to ignite into flame, to tamp down the fear and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

It’s okay to be the only one who initially believes in something. The rest of the world is busy with their own stuff. If it brings life to your soul and hope to your spirit, pursue it. Make your way bravely through the middle ground of the shift. Fight the insecurity and the doubt. Emerge on the other side, into the sun, knowing that you will never be the same. That alone is enough reward.

In Identity, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Spiritual Life

Impermanence

Julianne HarveyJanuary 12, 2016January 11, 2016Leave a comment

Coming to terms with impermanence is a task for every living person. Nothing lasts. Try as we might, not one of us can hold onto anything or anyone. The days turn into years, our children grow up and away from us, and anticipated events and seasons pass and fade into memories.

The good news is that we can choose our attitude to the certainty of change and loss. It makes us better or it makes us worse. We grow or we resist growth. Both states are uncomfortable.

To be human is to be in a state of flux, with our feelings and the circumstances that comprise our days. We feel melancholy, then grateful, and occasionally suffused with unexplained joy. Our emotions ebb and flow like the tides, often surprising us with their force and power.

I think the key is holding all of it loosely. So easy and healthy-sounding to write and so challenging to live out. I know that fighting the inevitable is useless. We can’t change the passing of time. All we can do is adapt to it by accepting that the process is bigger than we are. Each of us exists as a cog in a much larger wheel, stretching back into the past and extending far beyond us into the future.

And yet, impermanence itself leads us to gratitude for whatever is currently in front of us. When we stop running from the truth that our life on planet earth will not last forever, we can sweeten our experience of this particular day. It means more, because we only have a limited number of them to come.

This concept of time passing is more keenly profound in middle age. We are at the halfway point (if all goes according to plan), and we find ourselves astonished by how much of our life is already behind us. Then we look ahead, and we see old age in a way that seems much closer than it used to.

One of the hardest parts of living authentically is bravely facing up to these truths, instead of numbing them with food, alcohol, work, other people’s problems or the enormous time suck that is the internet. Being true to who we are involves recognizing that what we are building into will not last forever, but when we invest in those we love, we can pass those skills and securities to the next generation.

I’m attempting to focus on what brings the most meaning, to myself and to others, in the days and months ahead. How I define this will continue to shift and change, as I do, but it’s a helpful way to channel my energy into something positive and worthwhile. I hate to feel paralyzed by panic and fear at what I cannot control. I’m better off staring this anxiety straight in the face and stating, “I accept you, exactly as you are” and then going along my merry way with a lighter heart because I’ve addressed the darkness instead of ignoring it.

It’s a hallmark of dysfunction to feel isolated in our sadness, but when our sense of loss is part of our shared human experience, it helps a little to actually share it. To bare our souls with as much courage as we can muster, in the midst of our brokenness, and hear another say those healing words: “Me too.”

The load is lighter when others help us carry it. Nothing lasts forever, but as long as we are alive, we get to choose how to spend our time and who we share our lives with. And those choices determine the quality of our days, which matters a great deal.