I’m thrilled to have a story published online for Woman’s World Magazine! My essay comes straight from my heart… how gardening helped me through grief when my mom and dad were critically ill at the exact same time. They passed away within five months of each other.
When I was going through this difficult time, I knew I’d write about it one day. I just didn’t know when. Now’s the time and I’m so happy to share it.
A month ago, I experienced the sparkliest “glimmer” I’ve ever felt. It was so extraordinary, I’m still thinking about it. I’ve had them before—tiny bursts of extreme joy and calmness—but this time was different.
Glimmers are fleeting moments of bliss that can happen while appreciating simple things. They give a rush of happiness, connection, gratitude, peace, and safety. Glimmers may happen while watching waves crash at the beach, seeing a rainbow, talking to an old friend, hearing a baby laugh, witnessing random acts of kindness, or savoring a cup of coffee.
In describing this sensation, the term “glimmer” was introduced by licensed clinical social worker Deb Dana in her book The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy. She says glimmers are small moments when our biology is in a place of connection or regulation which cues our nervous system to feel calm.
Medical experts agree glimmers can be good for mental health. They’re the opposite of triggers. While triggers cause a person to relive a past trauma, glimmers make a person feel cozy and safe.
For me, a tranquil—almost ethereal—sensation washes over me, relaxing my mind and body. It’s not like I have glimmers all the time. I’ve probably experienced less than a dozen. The best way I can explain how they feel is that time seems to freeze. It’s like I’m transported to an alternate universe for a flicker of a second. I get this all-over feeling that everything in this world is going to be okay. It’s warm and soothing, like God is embracing me, reminding me to enjoy my life and not to worry.
When I had the exceptional glimmer last month, I had been in my office paying bills, listening to my Spotify playlist. I stood to take a break and stretch out. One of my favorite songs started to play: “Sittin Pretty” by Florida Georgia Line.
That sunset straight up as it gets
Short shorts restin’ just right on your hips
The lyrics transported me to lazy summer days of long walks on the beach, my skin warm and golden from the bright California sun. Biting into sweet watermelon and peaches. Al fresco dinners with twinkle lights and lanterns glowing in our back yard. The night sky glittering with millions of stars.
For a brief moment, I felt like a kid waking up on a summer day with no plans, but super excited for what the day would hold. Zero worries or responsibilities. Simple, pure, exalted delight. I was on a highly elevated level of happiness. I hadn’t felt that in a really long time.
I started to sway to the rhythm of the music, but held back a bit. It felt strange, like I shouldn’t be so joyous. I thought of the heartbreak of the past couple of years when both of my parents were critically ill. They passed away within five months of each other. I thought of current problems; our family and friends with health issues, our business concerns, and everyday life stressors that weigh me down.
I literally shook my head and let all that sadness and worry float away so I could allow myself to melt into utopia.
We got all damn day to do it our way
Like an old tire swing in the shade
I danced like no one was watching (no one was). The song ended and the unbridled, sweet contentment vanished like steam from my coffee mug. Even though it was too short, I was grateful to experience that dreamy moment in time.
While still enjoying my “happiness high,” there was also something about it that bothered me. I tried to explain it to my husband.
“I can’t believe how much joy I felt. But it really makes me wonder how much grief and fear I’m holding in all the time. I don’t get why it was such a shock to feel so, so happy. I think of myself as a positive person. But am I?”
“Yes, you are,” he said. “It takes a long time to process grief and you might never fully let go of it all.”
“I just didn’t think I could ever, ever feel that happy. When did I feel that way before? When I was eight?”
“Maybe you’d feel like that more if we moved to Hawaii.”
We both laughed.
All kidding aside, I wondered if there was a way to be less anxious and feel that sudden burst of positivity more often—even for a micro moment. I did some research which spurred me to think of some ideas to improve mental health and maybe (just maybe!) have more glimmers:
These tips won’t guarantee more glimmers, but they can help put me in the right frame of mind to at least have glimmers of hope. I think I’ll go listen to my Spotify playlist. First up: “Sittin Pretty.”
Pretty as a peach
As a postcard picture of a West Coast beach
So pretty if I had to bet
This is pretty much as good as it gets
Our latest family vacation to Maui is one I”ll never forget.
I knew the trip this past October would be different. Instead of being obliviously happy in tropical paradise, the reality was the island had recently been riddled with death and destruction. Wildfires raged through West Maui in August, killing one hundred people. Many more lost their homes, businesses, and loved ones.
I was devastated, as Maui holds a special place in my heart. My husband and I have been there many times since our honeymoon thirty-four years ago and we own a second home on the island. Our family’s happiest place in the world.
There was another—more personal—reason this trip would be different. It was the first time I’d traveled since both my mom and dad passed away.
For the past two years, my parents were critically ill. They died within five months of each other. While they were sick, I went out of town a couple of times, but it was stressful. I worried constantly. Even when they were healthy, I’d be anxious when we’d go on vacation, especially if we went abroad. What if something happens to Mom and Dad? What if they need me and I’m not there? My anxiety wouldn’t let me rest.
Our Maui trip was planned for early September, but delayed until the end of October because of the wildfires.
As we boarded the plane, I had mixed emotions—excitement, but also trepidation. I was sad this was the first excursion without my parents on this earth. I wondered if I’d feel the usual joy and peacefulness of being on the island, even though so many there were hurting. Did enough time pass to be respectful of those who lost loved ones, or their homes, or both?
As the flight took off, I inhaled to the count of ten and exhaled slowly. I made it through the hardest years of my life so far. My mom and dad were safe and happier than they’d ever been, together in Heaven. I didn’t need to worry about them anymore.
It felt freeing.
We’d just flown above the clouds, the plane climbing to its cruising altitude. I touched the cold glass as I stared out the window, thinking of my parents.
Out in the powder blue ethereal sky, I saw a vision of Mom and Dad. They smiled and said, “Have the best time, Jen!” Warmth and comfort filled me. The loving vision faded so fast that I wondered if it had really happened. Deep in my heart, I believed it was them.
Sun beamed through the airplane window and I peered down, admiring the gold watch sparkling on my wrist. My dad had given it to my mom on their 35th wedding anniversary. They celebrated their love that year on the island of Maui. The back of the timepiece is engraved: Aloha 35, 6-2-93. That watch is precious to me. I didn’t know it existed (or forgot about it) and was thrilled when I found the delicate treasure while my sisters and I were clearing out our parent’s home. I knew it was meant for me to find. That’s what both of my sisters thought too.
Nearly six hours flying over the Pacific Ocean, the plane descended, preparing to land. The turquoise blue ocean glittered, seeming to welcome us to the island as if nothing had changed. But for many islanders, everything had changed. I prepared myself to witness it firsthand.
On the drive from the airport to our place on Kaanapali, it was heartbreaking to see the devastation, which was more widespread than we expected. Acres and acres of blackened landscape. Houses and businesses reduced to ash, down to the concrete slabs. Charred trees stood among the rubble like scorched scarecrows.
Our beloved historic and charming Lahaina was gone, the whole town obliterated by flames. It felt like all our memories of this special place were simply erased.
My husband, two daughters, and I loved Lahaina Town. Going there was a highlight of every trip. We never missed it. We’d stroll down lively Front Street, nestled next to the ocean. We had our favorite art galleries, shops, bars, and restaurants.
So many memories. Like the time my youngest little girl fell asleep on my lap during dinner, as she was lulled by waves lapping up against the side of the restaurant. Watching the sunset torch lighting ceremony on the rooftop of Fleetwood’s. Sipping lava flows and listening to live music at Down the Hatch. Halloween festivities on Front Street. Wandering around the 150-year-old Lahaina Banyan Tree, hundreds of mynah birds chirping away.
Etched in my mind forever is when my husband, daughters, and I sat on a grassy ridge at the Lahaina Harbor in September 2019, witnessing the most spectacular sunset we’d ever seen. Ever. Vivid blues, pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows lit up the evening sky, like it was proud to be shining above the cherished town of Lahaina.
The people of Maui are what makes the island so special. Over the years we’ve become friends with Hawaiian locals. It saddened us to think of what they’ve been through.
One of them is a man named Justo, who we’ve known for years. We consider him part of our Maui ohana. He works security at the resort where our place is. It always amazes us how quickly Justo recognizes us when we get to the resort—even if we’re hundreds of feet away— and greets us with a huge wave and warm smile. He brings us papayas, mangos, and star fruit picked from his trees at home. When I think of someone who embodies the Aloha spirit, I think of Justo.
On the day we arrived on this most recent trip, my family and I were walking by one of the pools when we spotted Justo. We hurried over and gave him great big hugs. I told him how worried we’d been and asked if he and his family were okay.
“I lost everything. I was living with my sister in Lahaina and her house burned.”
Justo’s brother owned a food truck which was destroyed. In an instant, the brother’s business and livelihood were gone.
But they’re all here—safe.
On the day of the fire, Justo had been at the resort, which is a ten-minute drive from Lahaina Town. He went up to the tenth floor of one of the buildings and snapped photos of the orange and red spiky flames ravaging his home town.
The incredible part was Justo’s positive attitude and big smile. Despite the sadness, he had hope and optimism for the future. My husband told Justo he admired his outlook.
“All I can do is move forward,” Justo said. “Thank God I’m here. I have to keep going. What else can I do?”
Before we said goodbye to Justo that day, we took selfies of the five of us. Our huge grins and beaming eyes said it all. Pure joy to be together again.
Justo’s words about moving forward inspired me to celebrate and honor my mom and dad by being present and enjoying every moment of our time on Maui.
I felt myself melt into island life, the stress and anxiety float away from my body. Every sunset, plumeria, palm tree, rainbow, and the warm Hawaiian clear-blue ocean were beautiful, comforting reminders of my parents. I knew what they’d want most for me is to be happy and live my blessed life to the fullest.
My mom used to tell me: “Best friends don’t come along often. You’ll be able to count those special people on one hand. And if you’re really fortunate, you’ll count them on two.”
She was so right. I’m happy to say I can count mine on two.
Not only are my friends fun to be around, there’s no doubt they have a positive influence on my mental health. My friends fill my life with joy, accept me for who I am, and are there to support and encourage me when times are hard. I’m definitely not alone in feeling like this. Experts agree good friends are good for your health. The Mayo Clinic says friends can increase your sense of belonging and purpose, reduce your stress, and boost your self-worth.
One of my closest BFFs is a beautiful woman named Alicia. She recently came to Southern California for a visit—it had been twenty-nine years since we last saw each other.
Alicia is a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan. She found out they were scheduled to be in Los Angeles to play the Rams in October. She decided she had to come, not just for the game, but to see me and some other lifelong family friends. Alicia’s oldest son came with her, so I got to meet him for the first time. We planned lunch at a restaurant on the beach near Santa Monica.
When my husband and I were walking to the front of the restaurant, I spotted Alicia and called out her name. We rushed toward each other and hugged tight, two long-lost friends ecstatic to be together again. It felt surreal, yet totally natural. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Our friendship is unique. We were ten years old when we met in fifth grade and became fast friends. The summer before sixth grade, Alicia and her family moved across the country. It blows me away to think we only knew each other for one year—and here we are forty-nine years later, still very close.
There’s an unexplainable childhood bond that’s remained strong. We have one of those friendships where even if we don’t talk for months, when we do, we pick up right where we left off.
In fifth grade, we were at that impressionable age, growing up and trying to figure ourselves out, but not ready to stop being little girls. Our bodies were changing, we noticed boys (but didn’t really want to have a conversation with any), and we had major crushes on singers Donny Osmond and Shaun Cassidy. We experimented with fruit-flavored lip gloss and roll-on perfume that smelled like rain. We played with dolls, pretending we had husbands and babies.
When we weren’t at school together or at our houses playing, we were writing cute letters to each other, decorated with drawings of elephants and puppies, using rainbow-colored pencils. We got to know each other’s families well. Alicia’s mom taught us how to oil paint and bake cookies, my mom often took us to the beach, and once I went camping in the Sequoias with her family.
When she moved away, I was devastated.
It was impossible for me to know how in the world I was going to navigate sixth grade without her, let alone, the rest of my life.
Two years later when we were twelve, my mom and dad bought me a plane ticket to Pennsylvania to visit Alicia during the summer. We had so much fun, it was like we still lived near each other. But the reality was we were thousands of miles apart. In my heart, I knew we had no choice other than to go our separate ways as we headed toward our teenage years.
Alicia and I kept in touch on and off as we went through high school, college, found our future husbands, and got married. She had two baby boys, I had two baby girls. Still living on opposite coasts, we were absorbed with taking care of our growing families. Life was beautiful, but also challenging and heartbreaking for us in different ways… divorce, a cancer diagnosis, healing from panic disorder, nursing our parents through serious illness, and then losing them.
Through it all, I’ve known Alicia would always be there for me. And me for her.
Over the years we’ve made other super close friends, other BFFs. I feel so blessed and I celebrate the special women in my life. They enrich my world, are there for me to laugh with, learn from, and lean on during the tough times. I love and treasure those relationships.
But there’s only one Alicia.
Here’s to one-of-a-kind, life-long friendships. Especially the ones you can count on one hand.
On January 7, 2021, I received an email that completely took me off guard. The subject line read: “fellow panicker calling.” The note was brief, saying he found my blog and wanted to know if we could chat on the phone. It was signed Matt Gutman, ABC News Chief National Correspondent.
WHAT?
I was used to seeing emails from people who had read my blog or an article I’d written, and were inquiring about panic and anxiety. But a reporter from ABC News? Was it real, was it spam? I wondered why he wanted to talk to me. Was he really struggling with panic attacks? Was he doing a story on mental health? And if he did have panic attacks, I thought about how incredibly hard that would be while working in broadcast news.
A significant part of this is when he emailed me. I remember the date clearly.
January 5, 2021 was a big day for me. For the first six years of my blog, I was anonymous. I never said my real name, where I was from, and never ever posted a picture of myself. When I started Peace from Panic, I chose to use a pen name, as I wrote about my struggles with mental illness, specifically, panic disorder. Stigma had kept me quiet for twenty years. I wasn’t ready to divulge my true identity with the rest of the world while sharing something so personal.
In December 2020, I was one-hundred percent ready to end my anonymity. Over Christmas break, my daughters helped give my site a complete makeover, took photos of me, and even made edits on my “coming out” post. I was nervous, but mostly excited. It felt great to let everyone know the real me.
January 5, 2021: the big reveal on my blog.
January 6, 2021: the attack on the U.S. Capitol.
January 7, 2021: Matt reached out.
An hour after I saw Matt’s email, I overcame my hesitations and called him. We had a wonderful, in-depth conversation. Turns out he truly did suffer from panic attacks. The frightening symptoms were at times debilitating and threatening his livelihood as an on-air reporter. Especially difficult, as panic came on most often while he was about to start—or while in the middle of—a live shot. It’s hard to imagine the terror of having a panic attack while tens of millions of people are watching, as you’re trying to remember what to say and sound intelligible.
We never know what people are going through. Mental illness may not be visible on the outside, but on the inside, that person might be crumbling.
Matt was very curious about my story and how I’d managed to mostly recover. We had several things in common—panic disorder being the first. But also, journalism. In college, I majored in broadcast journalism. After graduation, I had a job waiting at a local TV station in Montana. I didn’t take it, as I would soon be marrying my husband. I told Matt that looking back, even though I missed covering breaking news, I was glad I didn’t go to Montana and make a career out of it. I doubted I’d be able to handle being on air with panic attacks, and also symptoms of depersonalization and derealization.
I thought Matt was brave to stick with it. He’s what I think of as an extremely adventurous reporter, not afraid to be right in the front line of breaking news, and doing so while millions of viewers are watching his every move. He seems to thrive in that environment. He’s been at the forefront of huge national and international stories. He’s traveled all over the world, broadcasting from war zones and natural disasters. He was detained by Venezuelan police for five days. He was in Ukraine during the Russian invasion. He appears fearless. Nothing holds him back.
Except panic attacks.
Matt got to the point where he couldn’t bear to keep his panic a secret anymore. Doing so is exhausting, I know that firsthand. He desperately searched for ways to help get rid of, or greatly minimize, his panic. To me, he seemed like the type of person with fierce determination who wouldn’t give up until he found an answer.
Over the past two and a half years, we’ve kept in contact, checking in on each other. About a year ago, he told me he was writing a book on his panic journey. And what a journey it has been.
In his memoir, NO TIME TO PANIC, Matt talks with experts including doctors, scholars, and shamans. He’s experimented with many types of treatment in search of healing, from conventional therapy and medications to ayahuasca (a tea with hallucinogenic properties) to ketamine psychedelic therapy.
Even though we live relatively close, we had never seen each other in person. When he told me he was doing a book tour, first stop in Los Angeles on September 12 (date of his book release), I knew I had to go. He’d be in an intimate conversation with Mayim Bialik. I’m a fan of Mayim’s (Big Bang Theory, Jeopardy), and love that she speaks openly about mental health.
Matt and Mayim’s talk was heartfelt and honest, recounting Matt’s harrowing journey with panic disorder and his adventures to find answers. The best part of the evening was finally— after two and a half years of talking, emailing, and sending DMs on Instagram about our personal struggles with panic disorder—we got to see each other in person and give each other a great big hug.
I recently finished reading NO TIME TO PANIC, and it’s incredible. This is a must-read for anyone affected by anxiety and panic—either the person with the illness or their loved ones. Matt masterfully weaves expertly researched science (he makes it so relatable and at times funny) with his own personal story. The details of his experiences are so clearly written, it felt like I was right there with him. Matt’s journey is filled with self-doubt and shame, but also with hope and self-acceptance. His vulnerability helps others know they are not alone.
And guess what? Yes! I’m in the book! I feel fortunate and proud to be Matt’s friend and part of his story. And I’m so glad he’s part of mine.
Earlier this week while sipping my morning coffee, I was scrolling on Instagram when this quote posted by Wondermind caught my eye. It was exactly what I needed to see.
I read it three times:
Chill out, take a deep breath, and spend more energy enjoying where you are.
The night before, I hadn’t slept well. My anxiety started to spiral around 3am (I hate when that happens!) I was worrying about where my life is headed. That’s a loaded question for the middle of the night.
Nothing is really wrong. In fact, my life right now is pretty great and I feel incredibly blessed. My husband and I just celebrated 34 wonderful years of marriage, my family is healthy and happy. I think my anxiety stems from making it through a really rough past two years.
A brief background: my mom was diagnosed with vascular dementia late 2021 and passed away August 1, 2022. During that same time, my dad had a heart attack and like my mom, was placed in a board and care facility. Dad passed away January 2, 2023, just five months after Mom. We had a buyer for their house and needed to move FAST. We closed escrow March 1. And within the past few weeks, my husband and I have sold a large part of our business.
BIG changes. Even positive transitions can be challenging. Change is HARD.
It finally feels like I’m coming out from underwater, getting my life back. I’m planning things for the future with hope and optimism. I’m so grateful. But honestly, it feels kind of strange. A bit like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe it’s because I was in crisis mode for so long.
But now I need to chill. Take deep breaths. And enjoy this time of my life.
Thank you Hunter Hayes, for those words of wisdom. I’m adopting it as my new mantra.
Recently I worked on a collaboration for The Well by Northwell Health and it went live today! It’s on a topic that took me years to be okay talking about—my experiences with depersonalization and derealization—for me, the most terrifying symptoms of panic disorder.
If you want to check out the article, please click here.
Thanks for reading!
Jeni
I’ve been hearing a lot about “finding your why“—on podcasts, in articles, on social media—and I can’t stop thinking about it. The term isn’t new to me, but before now, I’ve never stopped to really reflect on it. Maybe I’m obsessing about it because I’m at a crossroads and feel overwhelmed… even sometimes a bit lost.
In the past twelve months, there have been huge changes in my life. My mom and dad both dealt with serious illnesses, and they passed away five months apart from each other. They were an incredible part of my life and it’s surreal they’re not here anymore.
Another substantial turning point for my husband and me involves major business decisions, including upcoming retirement. Life is (and has been) changing—big time.
All of this leaves me wondering what the rest of my life is going to look like. When we retire, my husband and I want to travel and renovate our house. But on a deeper, more personal level, what do I want for ME? What do I want to accomplish?
Back to the question: What is my why? (shouldn’t I already know this?)
Sounds like this requires some heavy soul-searching. I’ve been confused where to even start.
I went online and did a little research. Your why is your purpose. Why is it important to know your why? Because it helps clarify what you truly want out of life and what you need to do to get there. Your why can be thought of as your North Star, guiding you to make decisions.
When trying to pinpoint your purpose, here are some things to think about:
What are your values? Your strengths? Your passions? Your motivations?
I value my family, friendships, health, and travel. As for the next three—my strengths, passions, and motivations—here’s part of my list: Writing, particularly about mental health. Speaking about mental health, especially to youth. Gardening. My tomatoes are sprouting and the new roses I just planted are gorgeous! My happy place is the beach. I strive to live a simple life, filled with joy and peace, trying my best to keep stress and anxiety at low levels.
As I continued my research, I came across something that totally clicked. It’s an article (courtesy of circlein.com) showing ways to structure your why statement:
To (insert contribution) so that (insert impact). An example: To leave a positive influence on people’s lives so that they can realize their true potential.
Here’s mine: To show kindness, compassion, and empathy so that people affected by mental health conditions won’t feel alone.
I feel good about my why statement. But this is only one portion of my life. What about the rest of the things that are important to me? I called my sister Terri, who’s a health coach.
“There’s no limit to your whys,” Terri said. “You can have as many as you want. Some people have one business and one personal, but others have more than that. There’s no rule about this… they’re YOUR whys.”
Terri explained a health coaching technique she uses that shed light on the process of finding my why and how it relates to my goals. Here’s how it works:
She asks clients what they want to achieve. Say someone mentions losing weight.
Terri will ask why do they want to lose weight? So I’ll be thinner.
Why do you want to be thinner? So my blood pressure and diabetes get under control.
Why do you want your blood pressure and diabetes under control? So I’m healthy.
Why do you want to be healthy? So I can travel with my family and be here to play with and get to know my grandchildren.
AHA! There it is. The crux of this whole exercise.
Ask yourself why, why, why to get to your REAL why. The point is it’s often the deeper meaning that gives you the desire and energy to continue and reach your goals.
Finding my why is overwhelming! But at least I’ve got a good start.
Why do I want to find my why? To know my purpose in life.
Why do I want to know my purpose? So I can use the talents God gave me to leave a positive impact on the world. Also, to be sure I accomplish all I want in life.
Why do I want to be sure to accomplish all the things I want in life? Because of something my mom told me when she was first diagnosed with dementia. “Make sure you do the things you want to do because one day you won’t be able to.”
Last week my husband, daughters, and I were in the car for a day trip, heading to the charming California beach town of Santa Barbara. We were talking about recent business transactions that didn’t work out as we’d hoped, including missed deadlines that have to be rescheduled for the fall.
My view was we should forget about the missed deadlines and move on. Sure, I wish these things were finished, but they’re not. Most of it was out of our control. I told my husband we did all we could.
This made me think of my mantra for the past year and a half—words that have given me comfort when I felt like falling apart:
I’m doing the best I can.
While my family and I were in the car, I realized I hadn’t yet told them about the mantra. Not that it was a secret, I just hadn’t thought to say anything about it. So, I mentioned it to them and my daughters loved it, but my husband wasn’t so sure. He said this is what he tells himself:
I can always strive to do better.
I knew he wasn’t telling me I could do better. This is his way of dealing with things. But still… My heart dropped to my stomach. “If I told myself that, I’d crumble inside.” To me, those words sounded unkind and harsh. “How can you be so mean to yourself?”
He seemed surprised by my (over) reaction.
Let me explain… I’m not saying it’s bad to push yourself. In many situations, it’s positive, even necessary. And I totally got where my husband was coming from. He’s super competitive. I am not. One of his greatest qualities is that he always strives for more, expects to reach his goal, and most often does. He never gives up, no matter what obstacle is in his way. He encourages me to keep going and I’ve strengthened my persistence because of him.
But… I was ultra-sensitive to his comment because of what we’ve been through the past year and a half—the most difficult season of my life so far.
In September of 2021, my mom’s legs collapsed. After a stay in the hospital and a skilled nursing facility, she was able to go back home to be with my dad. But she kept falling and her memory was failing. Three months later, she was diagnosed with vascular dementia, which deteriorates both the mind and body. By January 2022, Mom was bedridden in a board-and-care home under hospice care.
My family and I were thrust into unchartered territory, learning the brutal realities of dementia. The sadness, uncertainty, and stress of this cruel disease were almost unbearable.
Even though I consider myself recovered from panic attacks, there were times I couldn’t control my anxiety. I’d be nervous and jittery for an entire day. I constantly felt weighed down, like a strong force above my head was trying to crush me. My neck and shoulders ached; I could literally feel the tension.
In June 2022, my 93-year-old dad had a heart attack. He was taken to the hospital and two weeks later, placed into skilled nursing. He was moved to a board-and-care home (a different one from my mom, which thankfully was minutes away from her).
It was hard to fathom both of my parents were critically ill at the exact same time. It felt surreal, continually moving from one crisis to another. Even with all the support I had from my husband, daughters, sisters, and friends, nothing could ease the emotional toll it took.
On August 1, 2022, my beautiful mom passed away.
Five months after saying goodbye to her, Dad passed away on January 2, 2023.
When Mom first became ill, it was a shock: life was drastically changing. I was forced to navigate the new normal. At first, I tried to do it all, to get everything done as usual. That did not work. It only piled on more stress. I learned to prioritize what I absolutely had to do—visit my parents, talk with doctors and caregivers, text/call/Facetime my sisters (we talked every single day), take care of our business and finances—and the rest had to wait or simply not get done.
I didn’t have the energy and wasn’t in the right headspace to write. I didn’t have the bandwidth to keep up with my friendships. I knew my friends would understand. I knew they would give me grace.
That’s exactly what I needed to do for myself. My daily affirmation was born: I’m doing the best I can.
Now that I’ve moved through to the other side of our family’s heartbreak, my mantra continues to comfort me. It reminds me to slow down and give myself the time and space I need to process my grief.
I’ve realized that being kind to myself—showing myself compassion—is key to achieving good mental health. When I notice negative self-talk creeping in, I stop and remind myself that I am enough.
As hard as it is, I’m moving forward, working on making new memories with my family and filling my life with joy. Some days are better than others, and that’s okay. Grief is a journey, different for everyone. I’m sure one day I’ll get to the point where I’ll want to push myself and try out my husband’s motto: I can always strive to do better.
But for now, I’m content to focus on doing the very best I can.
Giving myself grace.
I’m SO excited to have an article published on Wondermind! If you haven’t had a chance to check it out, Wondermind is a mental health company with an awesome mission—to destigmatize and normalize mental health—in a super relatable way. The company was cofounded by singer/actress/producer Selena Gomez, her mom, Mandy Teefey, and business entrepreneur Daniella Pierson.
About the piece I wrote… Dealing with panic attacks definitely makes traveling more challenging, but I refuse to let it stop me. I love to travel with my family and the times we’ve spent exploring new places together are priceless.
If you want to see how I deal with travel anxiety, here’s the link to read more…
Safe Travels and Happy Holidays!
Jeni
Peace from Panic 