Relationships

I got a phone call from a guy who I have known for 25 years. He came to my church as a baby and been with us ever since.

He said, “How about I come over and we do some painting together. Without thinking too much I said yes. Then fear set in. I haven’t picked up a brush in over 6 months. Simply because of a crisis of confidence.

He came today. It is 42 degrees C outside and my office a/c was struggling but we listened to lots of music including 8 different renditions of Nessum Dorma. We are both fans.

I finished a painting that has been sitting on the easel for a very long time. Getting out of my comfort zone turned out ok.

If you live with panic attacks or panic disorder (with or without agoraphobia), you already know how consuming they can be. The racing heart. The fear of losing control. The constant scanning of your body. Over time, life can quietly shrink—avoided places, canceled plans, and staying home because it feels safer. Your family and loved ones just don't understand that you are trying your best, but anxiety often wins.

Many people come to therapy having talked extensively about their panic. While that can bring temporary relief, it often doesn’t lead to lasting change. Venting helps you feel better in the moment, but it rarely teaches your nervous system that panic itself is not dangerous.

I understand this deeply—because I was once skeptical myself about Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP).

When I first learned ERP for panic attacks and panic disorder, I remember thinking: This feels too structured. I don't think my clients will like it. It is too methodical. Where is the space to vent? To connect? How can healing happen without open-ended talk therapy?

What I learned—through training, experience, and watching clients reclaim their lives—is this:

The process is what heals.

My hunch was right. Many of my clients did not like the process, but they disliked -- or hated -- panic attacks even more. They chose to be uncomfortable in therapy for the short term in order to no longer have panic attacks ruining their life for the long term.

ERP doesn’t just reduce stress; it retrains the brain and body. Instead of avoiding panic symptoms or organizing life around preventing them, clients learn—step by step—how to face panic safely, until the fear loses its grip. In many cases, panic attacks are extinguished altogether. In others, they become truly manageable, no longer dictating choices or limiting relationships. For many people, staying home once felt like the solution. Over time, it became the problem.

If you’re done talking about panic—and ready to do something about it—ERP may be the next step. Here are the Core Principles of ERP treatment for Panic Attacks or Panic Disorder:

​Intentional exposure to feared bodily sensations (not avoidance)

Response prevention—reducing safety behaviors and coping rituals

Learning through experience that panic is uncomfortable, not dangerous

Habituation and inhibitory learning over time

Between-session practice and healing assignments to reinforce real-world change

Therapist guidance and collaboration throughout the process

Ready for a Different Outcome?

If panic attacks are controlling your life—and you’re ready to move beyond temporary relief toward real change—I invite you to take the next step, find a provider that offers ERP, a robust, evidence-based treatment therapy that goes beyond talk therapy to provide life-changing results.#stoptalkingaboutpanic #erp2treatpanic

You don’t have to live smaller to feel safe.

Nothing says "welcome to being an adult" more than the stockpile of ✨responsibilities✨ that come with it.

These responsibilities can look like managing your health and household, taking care of family and pets, or even maintaining different relationships or roles in your life. Depending on your personal circumstances, maintaining and keep up with those responsibilities may look different for each of us.

In general, would you consider yourself a responsible person? Or is it something you’re actively working toward? (No judgment if there’s room for growth!)

#52SmallThings #CheckInWithMe #Selfcare #MentalHealth #Disability #ChronicIllness #ChronicPain #RareDisease #Anxiety #Depression
#Autism #Parenting #PTSD #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #BipolarDisorder #Fibromyalgia #Lupus #MultipleSclerosis #Migraine #Spoonie

I wonder why it is so hard for some people to cry? I don’t struggle to cry, if, I am watching an emotive movie, and I am 100% all alone, or I am at the very edge of my pain tolerance, but again, I must be all alone.

Perhaps it is our upbringing. Crying when I was growing up was forbidden and would normally invoke a warning of physical punishment if we didn’t stop crying, on demand.

Last night I realised I had forgotten to get my Wife to get a prescription filled for the nerve pain medication I am currently taking. The other pain meds I am don’t bring any relief when it is specifically nerve pain. As I tried to drift off to sleep last night everything within me was crying out, but no tears were forthcoming.

In examining myself last night I realised that the physical pain was seriously uncomfortable but that the emotional pain was compounding that physical pain too.

I was feeling lonely, frustrated that there are still so many things I can’t physically do.
I am tired of being so dependent on others for the majority of things I used to take for granted.

Tears would have been very welcome.

Do you struggle to cry?
Have you overcome your reticence to cry? If so how?

I believe that “real” men do cry. I don’t believe there is anything masculine about holding back tears at cost.

I just wish that truth would go from my head to my heart.

I hope this encourages you today!

What is the greatest gift someone could give you?

I believe the greatest gift that you could receive from someone is their love and appreciation.

The word love is tossed around like a ragdoll. You have people constantly saying they love you, but do they really when their actions don’t meet their words? When I say I love you, I mean it with my whole heart. Sure, I say it frequently to my friends and family, but that’s because I genuinely feel that emotion toward them. I don’t say it just to say it.

From my experiences, I’ve had people in my life tell me they love me, but I don’t feel the depth or emotion behind it. Maybe there is, and I’m just misconstruing it all, but I’m intuitive enough to know when someone means it or not.

Because of this, I’m also the type of person that seeks validation at every corner. I want to know that I’m included, that I belong, and that I’m worthy of love and appreciation. I need to hear words of affirmation, a long hug that feels real, and maybe a compliment or two.

Because of my rejection sensitivity, hearing that the love I give is reciprocated is essential for me.

I’ve never experienced having a partner who loved me for me. It’s an incredibly lonely place to watch others thrive, be in healthy relationships, and notice the strong amount of love shared. And while I honestly love to see love, I yearn for it and want it for myself.

Over time, that longing has made me feel unlovable. I’ve had more situationships than real ones—ones who never take the leap and actually want to date me, and instead just use me for their own gain. I know this to be true because there always seem to be other people in line waiting to make me feel worthless.

In turn, I’ve made myself vulnerable and more susceptible to hurtful situations. I’ve placed myself in the category of being unworthy of love. I think very negatively about myself and am constantly wondering why true love is so hard to obtain. I pretend like I don’t care because I know that they don’t, but deep down, it’s the total opposite.

Because of that, I like to hear words of reassurance to make me feel seen. Otherwise, I’m still the invisible girl—standing in a circle with people, having them step in front of me, and quite frankly, all over me.

At the end of the day, I still believe that the greatest gift you could receive is to love and be loved. To feel admired and appreciated among those you view as close people in your life.

I think it’s important for us to show our love because, from past experiences of losing people, I tell them all of the time. Tomorrow is promised to no one, so make sure you tell the ones you love how much you appreciate them.

Where in your life do you need love to be shown, not just spoken—and what would feeling truly seen look like for you?

“To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.” — David Viscott

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #AutismSpectrumDisorder

Most of the kids I grew up with loved Saturday mornings. Sleeping late, cartoons, extra helpings of sugary cereal.

But my Friday nights were full of stomach-twisting dread at what would come the next day.

I was born into a strict religion. One of the expectations was to attend a private school run by the denomination.

My parents didn’t adhere to this unspoken mandate. But there was a penalty to be paid: Saturday morning religion class.

Classes started for me in first grade. Well, sort of. A class is run by a teacher, and there was no teacher.

I am confused about who exactly dropped the ball, for how long, and why I never told my parents. But I have a very accurate memory of my early life, and I know for a fact that there was no pilot in the cockpit for awhile.

This was an absolute delight for all the kids in the class but two. Greg and me. We stared miserably at our desks while our peers ran amok, deliriously noisy and free.

I complained every Friday night about going to religion school the following morning. My dad promised me a swing set if I sucked it up. I did, but the swing set never materialized.

One Saturday morning, I was surprised and relieved to see a new person in our Lord of the Flies midst. A tall person. An adult! We were saved.

Except that the kind looking woman suddenly exploded with anger at the group of unruly children behaving exactly as nature intended them to. And then there was Greg and me, the outliers who didn’t even get credit for suffering the whole unsupervised time.

Once the wrath was out of her system, she announced the day’s lesson. She would teach us to pray. I wasn’t excited, exactly, but willing to learn. My family prayed exactly once a year, before Thanksgiving dinner. So this would be something relatively new to me.

She led us through three prayers that we were encouraged to memorize. It reminded me of the Pledge of Allegiance in school. I didn’t know what either “pledge” or “allegiance” meant, but I recited the words dutifully. The prayers were full of those sorts of words.

There are probably only a handful of moments for any of us in which we hear words that change the landscape of our lives. But this particular Saturday morning held one of these moments.

She said, “You can pray these prayers. But you can also talk to God like He’s your friend.”

Boom. That was it. The missing piece. I couldn’t wait to get home and converse with my new Best Friend.

As soon as I was in my house, I knelt by my bed and prayed out loud. I don’t remember what I prayed. But I do remember my mom and my sister standing in the doorway, snickering openly.

From then on, I knew that no one could ever know that I was praying. It was ok to pray silently, but it didn’t count unless you laced your fingers together. That was easy at night, when I could hide my hands under the covers on my bed.

But I needed to commune with God a lot. Like all day. So I hid my hands under my desk at school, or under my coat on the playground.

It was worth it for the rush of reassurance I always felt. God was perfect. My parents weren’t always around to protect me, but He was. I loved Him, and He loved me back.

The fact was, I was a mess. A song in a minor key could devastate me for an entire day. I walked around my house with my hand over my heart to make sure it was still beating. When my class went to the circus, I cried the whole time because I thought that the tent would blow down.

(Actually, it blew down the next day, Ha!)

It would be a decade before I would become a full convert to Christianity. My religion didn’t explicitly teach about salvation through Jesus. In fact, while preparing to be confirmed into the denomination, I was studying Eastern religion.

The whole story of my conversion is for another day.

The takeaway from my story is one that I’m not positive is true. It’s this: if I hadn’t struggled so much mentally, I don’t think I would have the relationship with God that I do today.

I’ve faced a lot of rejection because of my faith. Initially, I lost all of my friends. My family mocked me (and still don’t respect my beliefs). For awhile, I was even disowned.

Is it worth the price I’ve paid? Absolutely. It’s been tough at times. But it’s nothing compared to the persecution Christians face in other parts of the world.

The other night, I was in a hot tub with my husband and two of my kids. One of my sons was gazing at the moon and marveling that people actually landed there.

I have never grown jaded to the wonder of space travel. Prayer is similar. How does the Ruler of the Universe make time for me, always? It’s a familiar truth and mind blowing at the same time.

If I could meet that religion teacher today, I would tell her that she owed our class an apology. None of us children deserved to be upbraided after being abandoned.

But I would also express gratitude. She broke through the wall of ritual that separated us from a genuine connection with our Creator. She gave us a tremendous gift.

I wonder: did any of the other kids meet their Best Friend that day? I’d love to know.

#Bipolar #Depression #GAD #OCD #PTSD