Resiliency and Faith

Foreword:

Yes it has been an astonishing 3 months since I have written anything outside of a graduate paper for school. Here is where I would normally apologize for my absence, but it does not seem fitting this time around. Although, I have had stints where I am not writing, this has been the longest stretch since I began this blog back in 2013.

Though I will not apologize for being gone*, I will explain. School, coupled with the emotional toll my work seems to have on my ability to write was recently compounded by my decision to switch platforms (from Blogger to Wix) earlier this year and sort of "rebrand". The inability to successfully convert readership from one site to another, initially frustrated me, but then caused me to shy away from writing altogether. I felt “icky” when I thought about posting, became defeated by it, and ultimately did not do it. At present I have been posting to both sites until such a time I can figure out what the end game will be.

Anyway, I feel compelled to write this as I know it will benefit someone other than myself. Today’s post is dedicated to those that beat themselves up because life got in the way of doing something that was important to you. Know that it is not the end of the line, taking a break isn’t the same as quitting and in this life there are few things that are forever. Enjoy the opportunity to do them, whenever and wherever they come regardless of the frequency.

- D

Resiliency and Faith

The impact of spirituality on healing, resilience, outlook and capacity for change is not to be underestimated. Researchers have shown us that the impact of faith in dealing with trauma, whether it is in the form of the atrocities of war, the loss of a spouse or even cumulative microaggressions.

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9, NIV). Plainly stated, spirituality helps build resistance against depression and anxiety symptoms (Dewey, 2019). Moreover, per Dewey (2019) after a great bulk of research dating back to World War II, it has been proven that those with faith function better in terms of recovery from trauma.

In another area where faith is a helpful tool in overcoming barriers, those with terminal illnesses can lean on faith for improved outcomes as well (Johnson, 2003). The ability to cope with and understand death is eased by faith. According to Johnson (2003) spirituality assists with reducing personal worry, feelings of being a burden to others and ideas of things left undone. It is during the “living-dying interval” (the space between receiving a terminal diagnosis and the time of one’s passing) that a person’s spirituality may actually evolve.

Sadly, unlike the remaining seven dimensions of wellness (Emotional, Environmental, Financial, Intellectual, Occupational, Physical, Social) spirituality is set apart by the need for some level of faith, regardless of a client’s personal beliefs. Because of the fact that the seven other dimensions can be more defined by statistical, concrete research they have been more readily accepted by the medical and wellness community. Due to spirituality being largely unquantifiable in terms of the material world, its use within counseling in particular remains underutilized by practitioners (Dewey, 2019).

A potential solution for this would be the realization that spirituality is not what a patient believes necessarily, but that they believe something and have something to lean on in difficult times. In secular settings that provide treatment these ideas need explored, but the counselor does not have to be an expert in every faith. Rather, they need to be aware of its power and have at least a superficial ability to understand how individual patients use spirituality to cope.

References

Dewey,  J. (2019). Posttraumatic growth. Salem Press Encyclopedia. Retrieved from https://search-ebscohost-com.lopes.idm.oclc.org/login.aspx?direct=true&db=ers&AN=90558430&site=eds-live&scope=site

Johnson, L. S. (2003). Facilitating spiritual meaning-making for the individual with a diagnosis of a terminal illness. (Issues and Insights). Counseling and Values, (3), 230. Retrieved from https://search-ebscohost-com.lopes.idm.oclc.org/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edsgao&AN=edsgcl.100485214&site=eds-live&scope=site

*That being said, I cannot stress enough how much I take solace in the fact that people actually still pay any attention to my ramblings whatsoever. Know that I am very thankful for any eyes that come across these words and any online support you show. 

Mass Effect

            Damn, I miss running. I haven't got to go for a run since December 4^th. For those of you playing at home that's a month as I write this. And, as you might imagine, there are some pretty shitty circumstances that forced me to not do one of my favorite activities.  

            See, as a longtime stubborn runner I had been running on a stress fracture in my left foot for, gee no joke about 4 years. The pain kept getting progressively worse, and like a fool I continued to run on it, without doing much to address it. Ahh, who am I kidding, I did nothing to address it! Because, the pain was secondary to my need to run. My need to be out there on the path, the sidewalk, the treadmill. 

            As a result of my own neglect, I went out to run on December 4^th and the pain was so excruciating when I initially stepped off on my left foot that I was limping. However, me being me (stubborn bastard) I still tried to run in defiance of the agony. I made it about ¾ of a mile before I could no longer land on my left foot without the pain stopping me in my tracks every other step. I crept back to the house, in my mind defeated, in pain and already feeling depressed because I knew finally my neglect meant I would not be running for awhile. I had ignored my body and the warning signs it had been trying to communicate.

            Since then I have tried to switch over to a high protein diet and adopt a more weight-lifting focused exercise regimen. However, this process was somewhat interrupted due to a two week long road trip, and the Christmas holiday. Have you ever tried to eat healthy when your daily calorie intake is coming from Love’s and Pilot truck stops? It’s not impossible, but it certainly is a challenge. Further, have you ever tried to not eat all that deliciously desirable high calorie food on or around Christmas? Again, not impossible, but indulgences are bound to occur here and there. Since 1/1/2018, I have recommitted myself to my healthy eating and workout regimen. As of that date, I weighed in at 195.6 lbs and a 39 inch waist. This is particularly concerning to me as it is the heaviest I have been since losing about 90 lbs the year I graduated high school (253 to 163 approximately).

            Present day, I sit here banging away on this keyboard, desperately wanting to work out, but I’m again a victim of my own ignorance. I woke up this morning with a back so stiff and pain-ridden that it took me 10 minutes to get myself out of bed.  It seems the L3 and L4 vertebrae in my back don’t like moving furniture alone, I guess they miss the cartilage that used to help them get along better. Yes, I am a fool, as moving furniture is something I also did over the Christmas break. Then in spite of that, I continued my weight lifting regimen even though my back was already tweaked as a result. Alas, no workout today, my spine has spoken. In case you’re wondering, I feel guilty about that, even though I have worked out every day this week and stuck to my diet without incident.

            Now I find those devious thoughts creeping up in my mind: Have a burger, you’ll feel better! You’re not working out today why don’t you relax a little and have a beer- after all you can’t work out, and it’ll dull the pain in your back!

            So what is the point of all this? Well, clearly it’s a self-serving pity fest designed to let me bitch and moan about my own circumstances.

            But it is also something more than that…it’s my not giving in. I haven’t caved, or sacrificed myself to temptation and self-loathing. I won’t be sneaking through the McDonald’s drive thru and greedily smear grease-covered French fries into my waiting maw.  I will not beat myself up for missing a workout. I won’t justify a beer, or a Jack and Coke. I will sit here, I will heal and I will be back at it tomorrow with the same focus that I have had all week.

            And for those of you that as of January 4^th find yourself in a similar predicament regarding your New Year’s resolution to get fit, feel free to recite the above paragraph if you need motivation to keep up the momentum.

            I wish all of you readers out there good luck in your goals for 2018, whatever they may be!

When the Going Gets Tough

...the tough throw their hands up in the air and scream “FUCK!!!”

But then they roll up their sleeves and get to work fixing whatever shit they need to in order to right the wrongs of life.

Its no secret that life can be hard sometimes, maybe even for some of us, it’s even hard a lot of the time.

But here’s a little secret you probably aren’t reminded of enough:

There is something to be said for your resiliency, your innate strength that helps you overcome obstacles, deal with problems and get through the tough times.

You are battle tested and have proven that you have the power to overcome whatever is thrown your way.   Even if you do not feel equipped to deal with the problem that you are facing, that mountain that is in your way is there because God knows you can handle it and someone else can’t. Some people might chalk this up to some sort of cosmic “test” (and maybe it is, what the hell do I know?) - I however, would categorize it as an experience that is both designed and destined to make you stronger.

I also realize that seeing any negative experience in this light, while you are going through it, can be near impossible. But hold it in your heart, tuck it in your pocket- whatever you want to do with it, keep that notion safe, because you will overcome.

The Less Ordinary Life of Harold: Full Jelly Alchemist

Harold was sitting idly at the breakfast table. A bare piece of toast lay on the plate before him. It represented everything today would be; bland, flat, coarse.

Today was Harold's first day back to school after the brief respite of summer. Today would be a day of awkward shyness. A day of pecking orders being established between students and faculty, as well as among students and students. Harold stared at his glass of orange juice, this crucial part of today’s balanced breakfast was nearly at its bottom. This visual only served to remind Harold where he fell in his school’s hierarchical rolls.

“Harry, eat something, your going to starve.”

Harold blew a long strand of hair from his face in a huff. He didn’t need to look at his rotund frame to know that statement would be a long time coming, before it came true. “I’m not hungry Mom.”

Mom sighed, making a brief trek to the fridge. When she returned to the table a plastic container of margarine and a glass jar of grape jelly suddenly appeared. “Eat,” Mom commanded.

Harold smiled as Mom turned her back, busying herself with the mundane tasks of an adult. Whispering to himself alone, Harold recited, “Just the ingredient I need for my potion, at my thoughts you’ll heed my every notion…”

Harold’s eyes focused on the jelly jar, and before him a thin tendril of purple began to climb up the inside of the jar. Worm-like it pushed itself up and over the jar’s lip, past those ridges where the cap screws on, and down the outside of the glass.

Harold watched this spectacle unfold, but quickly glanced at his mother. As he did so the thin cylindrical mass of grape jelly became motionless. When Harold was satisfied Mom was still preoccupied with her grown up distractions, the jelly-worm formed a thin concave mouth and a tiny arm, complete with a three-fingered hand. With it, the glob of jelly smiled and tipped an imaginary hat to Harold. Harold returned both the smile and the gesture in kind.

Harold then winked and the grape worm wiggled and swayed, grew and twisted into a baseball player. Though roughly the size of a G.I. Joe, the grape ballplayer was a brute of a man, with a chest like a barrel and a large broad bat. The ballplayer stood, chest heaving as if he were living and breathing there on Harold’s kitchen table.

Harold reached over him, with what by comparison was the hand of a giant. He dunked two fingers inside the jelly jar, retrieving a generous glob of the purple substance. The ballplayer watched as Harold sat the hand that contained the jelly on the surface of the table. Looking at the tiny jelly ballplayer he held his free hand over the jelly-smeared fingers on his opposite hand. He made a balling, rolling motion and the jelly, now molded like clay, did the same. Harold repeated this process a few times over.  A few seconds passed and there sat three miniscule, gelatinous baseballs.

The ballplayer nodded knowingly. He readied his bat, shimmied and lined up his hips, tapping the head of the bat against the tabletop, and against his grape-jelly formed cleats.

With a flick of his fore finger and his thumb, Harold “threw” the first diminutive purple ball towards the matching ballplayer without ever touching it. The ballplayer swung, arching his head upwards to see past the brim of his little hat, and watched intently as the jelly baseball flew across the open air of the table, arched high, and then landed with a splat-pat on top of Harold’s toast. In succession, the following two jelly-balls found their mark as well.

“Thanks,” again, Harold found himself smiling at the little guy.

“Harold,” Mom began to turn around, “have you finished eating yet? That bus is probably barrelin’ around the corner right now.”

Mom turned quickly, but paused just long enough to check the clock. Harold had to act. With a grimace, and a short wave Harold said goodbye to the ballplayer. Instantly, the caricature of an athletic baseball player sunk into an unrecognizable patty shape. And then disappeared, seeming to fall right through, rather than off, the table itself.

The succinct but groaning horn of the bus driver signaled it was time for Harold to leave.

Harold wolfed down the now jelly covered toast. “Love ya Mom,” he hugged her at the waist and trotted out the door. With his backpack slung around him Harold went through the front door. He felt like he was an adventurer preparing for a long expedition.

*

Back in the kitchen, Mom removes Harold’s plate from the table and sits it in the sink. When she returns to retrieve the jelly jar and the butter she sees something beneath the table. She kneels to get a closer look.

Mom’s eyes narrow and she finds herself staring at a blob of grape jelly. Although its perimeter indicates the foodstuff was dropped from quite a height, she thinks she can make out a rough shape in spite of its messiness.

“Hmm, kinda looks like a little guy with a bat, maybe a baseball player...”