The Gift of a Short Retreat: Reflections from Bowen Island

The post Care for the Caregiver first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

As a psychotherapist, I find that particularly interesting.

Rohr suggests that life can be understood as having two broad movements. In the first half, we are largely concerned with building a life. We develop an identity, establish relationships, pursue education and careers, raise families, find our place in the world and hopefully develop a sense of security and belonging.

Perhaps this is one of the things I notice most often in my work with clients as they move through midlife and beyond. There can come a point when the things that once seemed so important no longer carry quite the same weight.

A career may change or come to an end. Children grow up and become independent. Parents die. Relationships evolve. Our bodies begin to remind us that we are not going to live forever. Goals that once motivated us may suddenly feel less compelling.

Sometimes people experience this as a crisis.

What am I doing with my life?

Is this all there is?

Who am I now?

What happens when I am no longer the person I used to be?

The second half of life involves integrating our experiences from the first half – leading to a greater understanding and awareness of the self.

Sometimes they are signs that something new is beginning.

This is where I find Rohr’s idea of “falling upward” so compelling.

The metaphor suggests that some of the experiences we interpret as falling—loss, disappointment, aging, failure, uncertainty, letting go—can actually become opportunities for psychological and spiritual growth.

But human beings have an extraordinary capacity to find meaning in what happens to us.

And sometimes the very things that disrupt our carefully constructed lives invite us to look beneath the construction.

Perhaps the person who has always been strong needs to learn how to be vulnerable.

Perhaps the person who has spent a lifetime taking care of everyone else needs to discover what it means to receive.

Perhaps someone who has defined themselves through achievement begins to wonder who they are when there is nothing left to prove.

This is where psychological growth can become less about becoming someone new and more about becoming more fully ourselves.

We begin to integrate parts of ourselves that we may have neglected.

We become more comfortable with uncertainty.

We become less interested in impressing other people.

We may even become willing to admit that some of the beliefs we carried for decades simply aren’t working anymore.

That can be uncomfortable.

The ego generally likes certainty. It likes labels and definitions. It likes knowing who we are and where we stand.

But maturity may involve developing the capacity to say:

I don’t know.

I’ve changed.

I was wrong.

I don’t need to have all the answers.

I can be both strong and vulnerable.

Perhaps this is one way of understanding Rohr’s “second half of life.” It isn’t necessarily about a particular age. It is more about a developmental shift—a movement from constructing our identity toward questioning, deepening and integrating it.

And I don’t think we have to wait until we are older to begin this process.

Sometimes a divorce starts it.

Sometimes the death of a parent.

Sometimes retirement.

Sometimes an illness.

Sometimes a career change.

Sometimes it is simply waking up one morning and realizing that the life we have carefully constructed no longer feels quite like our own.

Therapy can become a place where we explore that uncertainty without immediately trying to fix it.

Rather than asking, “How do I get back to the person I was?” we might begin asking, “Who am I becoming?”

I find that a much more interesting question.

There is also something reassuring about Rohr’s idea because it challenges our culture’s tendency to view aging primarily through the lens of decline. We certainly experience loss as we grow older. But aging can also bring something that is difficult to acquire when we are young: perspective.

We may become less impressed by appearances and more interested in authenticity.

Less concerned with winning and more interested in connection.

Less interested in certainty and more able to live with mystery.

Perhaps we begin to understand that a meaningful life isn’t necessarily the life that looks most successful from the outside.

t may be the life that feels most honest on the inside.

The goal of therapy isn’t always to help people become more successful, more productive or more confident. Sometimes the deeper work is helping someone let go of the belief that they have to be any of those things in order to be worthy.

Sometimes healing involves loosening our grip on the person we thought we were supposed to become.

And sometimes, when life knocks us off balance, the invitation isn’t to immediately stand back up.

Perhaps we can pause for a moment.

Notice where we are.

The second half of life doesn’t have to be a diminished version of the first.

It can be a different kind of life altogether—less about proving ourselves and more about knowing ourselves; less about acquiring and more about letting go; less about constructing an identity and more about becoming comfortable with the person who is underneath it.

Perhaps we spend the first half of life learning how to stand on our own.

And then, somewhere along the way, we discover that we don’t have to be quite so afraid of falling.

The post Finding peace in the second half of life first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

The post Oh no, is summer ending already? first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

This approach emphasizes making room for quiet in our daily life – something that most of us find difficult to do.  How can we truly “listen” enough to ourselves, our feelings, our passions, our disappointments and our joys?  There can be much wisdom and insight to be realized if we can nurture this part of ourselves.  We are used to looking for answers outside of ourselves.  Some ideas are as follows:

Find a time during your day when you won’t be disturbed and can sit comfortably on your own

Turn off all phones, screens, media

Gently bring your awareness to your breathing, simply following the rise and fall of each breath

When a distracting thought comes, simply return your focus to the breath

Sit quietly, without an agenda and notice what you feel in your body

Even five minutes a day is a good start, then return your focus to the room and carry on with your day

If you feel drawn to writing, you can record your experience – whatever it may be

Originally posted 2023-02-05 12:20:57.

The post Listening to the inner silence first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

Interestingly, both groups reported about a 30 percent decrease in the intensity of their symptoms.  The researchers also suggest that this program can work well when delivered virtually, something that may make a mindfulness program more appealing to some people who are interested in accessing therapeutic programs in a convenient way.

Originally posted 2023-01-30 12:19:12.

The post Mindfulness alleviates anxiety first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

A few ideas to boost your emotional and mental strength:

• Give you attention to the present moment as much as is possible – learn to let go of past regret and future worries
• Practice mindfulness or other form of meditation to help you stay grounded in the present
• Practice good health habits – adequate sleep and nutrition
• Seek a supportive circle of friends and family in your life – social support helps us to thrive and weather difficult circumstances
• Develop a gratitude practice: appreciate the good in your life, avoid negativity where possible which can be contagious
• Acknowledge and accept so called “negative emotions” which are a part of every life; for example, grief after a significant loss
• Nurture a sense of purpose in your life – helping others may be one way to boost meaning in your life and make you feel good

Originally posted 2023-01-17 12:19:39.

The post Resilience is… first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

Much of the time, though he seemed to be processing a lot on the inside, invisible to us his family and friends who could only offer our presence  and wait as the illness progressed.  As a palliative care counsellor, I was aware of the healing potential at end-of-life; not only for the patient but also for family and friends who witnessed the final transition from life to death.  And so, the time I spent by my father’s bedside – feeding him, reading to him, massaging his legs and feet, or just holding his hand – all seemed to be an invitation to a greater intimacy and connection between us.  I knew that time together was short, and wanted to spend as much with him as possible.

And now it seemed as though time had run out.  Would I get there in time to join the family in this our final journey with him, I wondered?  As I drove from the airport to where he was that night, I noticed the biggest and brightest full moon that I had ever seen.  It hung very low in the night sky and seemed to be lighting the way back, the way home.  I arrived to find some of the family at his side, my father appeared to be mostly unconscious but comfortable.  The morphine that was being given may hasten his death, we were told.  I decided to spend the night with him in his room while the others went home to get some sleep.  What could I say or do, I wondered to help him?  I decided to pray, and read a few passages from his mother’s old bible which I found near his bed.  Did he even know that I was there, reading to him, could he hear me?  I had no way of knowing and felt helpless as I watched and waited for some change.

It had been a long illness for him and for us.  The most difficult part I think, were the gradual losses that came with the decline in ability.  The loss of clear speech, the ability to write, the privilege of driving his car, and most of all his self confidence and strength.  Surrendering to these losses and to the ultimate loss of his physical presence was both emotional and frightening.  But none of us wished for his life to continue in this form and we knew that he didn’t want to go on either.

By morning there had been no visible change and so I went home to rest as other family members kept vigil in the room.  By the time I returned it was almost time for supper and someone suggested that we bring in some take out food and eat it down the hall in the family dining room.  And so that’s what we did, leaving his room to eat, all but my sister who felt that she wanted to stay near him.  As I left his room, glancing back at he and my sister, I knew clearly that his death was imminent.  Nonetheless, I left anyway, sensing that things were unfolding as they should.  Years earlier I had learned that it was sometimes the moment when the crowd gathered round the bed left to eat or grab a coffee that the patient could let go of all things earth bound and make the final transition.  It was no surprise then, when moments later, the nurse called us to return at once to his room.  At that moment as we began to walk back down the long corridor to his room  I heard the words and music of the battle hymn of the republic.  The music therapist was leading the residents in a hymn sing, “His truth is marching on…” rang out loud and clear as we returned to his room.

I believe that my father’s death impacted us all profoundly and touched us each in a unique way – not only on that cold winter day in March, but on all the days and months to come.  Someone once said that grief is as much about finding as it is about losing.  Certainly we could all agree on the many ways that we felt the sting of loss.  We missed his physical presence immensely.   That Christmas eve, the first without Dad, I thought I was doing OK until I began to carve the traditional roast beef, a job that always been his.  Suddenly I was overcome by a wave of sadness that he wasn’t with us as he should have been.  And there would be many more times in the journey of grief when that same wave would come crashing down upon me in ways that were both uncomfortable and cathartic at the same time.

The “finding” part of grief was present too – if I looked for it.  At times that was difficult, but when I asked Dad for guidance and for his presence, I was often surprised by the results.  After his death, the night nurse shared with us her last conversation with him,

just before he slipped into unconsciousness.  Again, the request for his words of wisdom, as she made her nightly rounds.  His reply this time was just one word – the last that he likely spoke to anyone: happiness.  It seemed that perhaps he wanted to leave us with one final truth, one last charge – to find happiness.  Or, was he telling her that he had in fact found happiness at the end, and was finally in a place of peace.  A few weeks later, my sister-in-law gave me a small charm on a necklace as a gift in the shape of a Chinese character.  I had no idea of its significance until I was chatting with a neighbor of my parents while wearing it.  “What is that you have around your neck?” she asked.  I replied that it had been a gift.  She took a closer look and declared, “Oh! It means happiness!”  I was astonished.  There was his word again – happiness, and now I was wearing it around my neck! Ever since, I have been left with a quest of sorts, to learn the meaning of happiness in my life.

Originally posted 2022-11-27 12:18:24.

The post Living through Loss first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

We cannot eat raw potatoes, but we don’t throw them away just because they are raw.

The following comes from one of my favourite teachers of mindfulness, the Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hand, he is telling us how we can use the energy of mindfulness to transform difficult emotions, such as anger or grief: Thanks to the illuminating light of awareness, after practising mindful observation for a while, we begin to see the primary causes of our anger.

Meditation helps us look deeply into things in order to see their nature.  If we look into our anger, we can see its roots, such as misunderstanding, clumsiness, injustice, resentment, or conditioning. These roots can be present in ourselves and in the person who played the principle role in precipitating our anger. We observe mindfully in order to be able to see and to understand.  Seeing and understanding are the elements of liberation that bring about love and compassion.  The method of mindful observation in order to see and understand the roots of the anger is a method that has lasting effectiveness.

We cannot eat raw potatoes, but we don’t throw them away just because they are raw. We know we can cook them.  So, we put them into a pot of water, put a lid on, and put the pot on the fire.

The fire is mindfulness, the practice of breathing consciously and focusing on our anger.  The lid symbolises our concentration, because it prevents the heat form going out of the pot.  When we are practising breathing in and out, looking into our anger, we need some concentration in order for our practice to be strong.  Therefore, we turn away from all distractions and focus on the problem.  If we go out into nature, among the trees and flowers, the practice is easier.

As soon as we put the pot on the fire, a change occurs.  The water begins to warm up.  Ten minutes later, it boils, but we have to keep the fire going a while longer in order to cook our potatoes.  As we practice being aware of our breathing and our anger, a transformation is already occurring.  After half an hour, we lift the lid and smell something different.  We know that we can eat our potatoes now.

Anger has been transformed into another kind of energy – understanding and compassion.

Originally posted 2022-05-16 12:17:43.

The post Anger: Cooking our Potatoes first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

The counterpart to the fight flight or freeze response, the relaxation response, occurs when the body is no longer in perceived danger, and the autonomic nervous system functioning returns to normal. The relaxation response is the opposite of your body’s stress response—your “off switch” to your body’s tendency toward fight-or-flight.

During the relaxation response, the body moves toward a state of physiological relaxation, where blood pressure, heart rate, digestive functioning, and hormonal levels return to normal levels. The fight-or-flight state is one of physiological arousal, including increased heart rate and blood pressure, slowed digestive functioning, increased blood flow to the extremities, increased release of hormones like adrenaline and cortisol, and other responses preparing the body to protect itself from perceived danger or stress (E. Scott, 2020).

Chronic or prolonged periods of stress or perceived threat can keep us locked in a state of hyper arousal, which may be damaging to our physical and mental well-being.  Some people may be experiencing this now due to the exceptional circumstances that we are all adapting to.

Meditation is one approach that promotes the relaxation response and can be a helpful strategy to find your personal balance in uncertain times.

A daily practice allows for a “time out” from worry about an uncertain future.  It can be a powerful way to ground yourself in the present moment, giving your mind and your body a much needed respite.

There are many different methods or types of practice that are helpful.  The important thing is to find one that works for you.

Mindfulness is one approach that has been introduced into mainstream awareness in recent years and has generated a myriad of research on its beneficial effects.  Simply stated, mindfulness is about learning to be present; to notice with full attention your experience.  I think Thich Nat Hanh, the buddhist monk who has written much about this topic, says it best:

“Breathing in, I calm my body.” Reciting this line is like drinking a glass of cool lemonade on a hot day—you can feel the coolness permeate your body. When I breathe in and recite this line, I actually feel my breath calming my body and mind.

“Breathing out, I smile.” You know a smile can relax hundreds of muscles in your face. Wearing a smile on your face is a sign that you are master of yourself.

“Dwelling in the present moment.” While I sit here, I don’t think of anything else. I sit here, and I know exactly where I am.

“I know this is a wonderful moment.” It is a joy to sit, stable and at ease, and return to our breathing, our smiling, our true nature. Our appointment with life is in the present moment. If we do not have peace and joy right now, when will we have peace and joy—-tomorrow, or after tomorrow? What is preventing us from being happy right now?

As we follow our breathing, we can say, simply, “Calming, Smiling, Present moment, Wonderful moment.”

While this may seem like a simple approach, most of us find that it is not an easy thing to do!  We are used to multi tasking and often find that our thoughts are focused on past events, or things yet to come.

With a gentle practice each day, simply returning to an awareness of your breath, produces gradual and noticeable changes.  Don’t just do something , sit there!  Try it.

Next time – how meditation can enhance emotional regulation and equanimity

Originally posted 2022-05-16 12:17:05.

The post Why meditate? first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.

“Acknowledge the feeling, give it your full, compassionate, even welcoming attention, and even if it’s only for a few seconds, drop the story line about the feeling.  This allows you to have a direct experience of it, free of interpretation.  Don’t fuel it with concepts or opinions about whether it’s good or bad.  Just be present with the sensation.  Where is it located in your body? Does it remain the same for very long?  Does it shift and change?”
-P. Chodron, “Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change.”

Originally posted 2022-05-16 12:13:38.

The post Living is a form of not being sure first appeared on Geoff Straw - Counselling.