Tag Archives: family

Self-Compassion

Posted on May 5, 2014 by Christy Barongan
My compassion reserves are running low. In my last relationship I took the words of Jesus and Buddha literally about how we should be able to love everyone. It was practically a 3 year exercise in compassion. But by the end I wondered if perhaps I had misunderstood what they meant about loving others. It was a lot of work to have to channel Buddha and Christ just to tolerate being in his presence. I feel like I’m experiencing a backlash now. All those feelings I tried to deny are coming out with a vengeance. I guess I was supposed to have compassion for myself, too.

I’m not very good at self-compassion. Every time I try, the Inner Critic berates me for whining about my problems when I have a good life. I don’t know what pain is. I’m not living in a war-torn country. My life hasn’t been devastated by natural disasters or school shootings. All of the people I love are still alive. Who am I to complain?But surely I must have the right to honor my feelings. My suffering must count, too, if God cares about all of us. So I’m going to write about what’s upsetting me, without apologizing for it or justifying it or willing myself to be positive.

This week I will be moving closer to divorce. Filing forms. Getting documents notarized. More tears. More snot. You would think there would be a limit to how much it’s possible to cry over something. That 4 years would be more than enough time. I used to pray to God–plead, even–to tell me what I could do that would allow both of us to be happy. Leaving seemed like it would just make us both miserable. And it has. And I don’t see an end in sight for me, at least. I’m trying not to blame God or myself. But in this moment, my faith in a happy future is wavering and I feel like I deserve the pain.

I have 2 family members who are currently on the opposite ends of the bipolar spectrum. My brother is trying so hard but still feels terrible.  It hurts me that he’s hurting. My dad is manic. Mania feels great for the person experiencing it, but it’s hell for the rest of us. But what power do I have to make him see?  If he were my client, I could make him see our psychiatrist, get him on meds. But as a daughter, I am practically useless.

I’m afraid to answer the phone when my parents call. Which makes me feel horribly guilty, because I know their time on earth is limited and I will regret not talking to them more when they’re gone. But the call is almost always about something bad. Something I’m expected to fix. Or something I don’t want to do. At minimum, I’m supposed to be a receptacle for the stress, but I can’t take it. It’s too much. I’m not able to function afterwards.

So I have to be strategic about when I call or when I answer. It has to be a time when it will be OK if I fall apart. But since it’s hard to choose something where there’s a good chance you’ll fall apart, I often forget to call altogether. Which makes me feel even guiltier and reactivates the vicious cycle. I wish it could be easier. I wish there were some way I could be a good daughter but also protect myself.

It takes a lot of work to maintain my health. Since I have GERD, allergies, and exercise-induced asthma, I have to take shots, nasal sprays, pills, steroid inhalers, rescue inhalers. I’m not supposed to have coffee and chocolate. I can’t eat or drink 3 hours before exercise or bed time. If I drink too much during a match, I’ll even throw up water. It’s frustrating to have to worry about throwing up every time I play. Or brush my teeth, even. But giving up dental hygiene and tennis are not options.

My mental health is always hanging in the balance. It’s work to maintain my sleep cycle because of my night owlness. I can’t miss any of my drugs. I can’t miss Ativan for even one night. I meditate, pray, journal, exercise, and all of the other self-care strategies. But despite my best efforts, I can never make it to the end of the term without burning out before I cross the finish line. I can’t handle the stress of my life. I can’t get out of bed right now. It makes me feel weak. Inadequate. Unable to do the basic tasks of life.

Just got a call from my lawyer friend that my paperwork looks good to go, so I guess I’ll be filing for divorce this week for sure. If you believe in God, feel free to say a prayer for me. If you don’t, send positive vibes my way.

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2014 Blog for Mental Health Project

Posted on April 13, 2014 by Christy Barongan
“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”  
A Canvas of the Minds

Sometimes we make the most important decisions in our lives without consciously knowing why we made them at the time.I knew that I wanted to become a psychologist since I was in high school. At the time I wasn’t fully aware of being depressed in the clinical sense. Being anxious was so much a part of my personality that I didn’t think I had an anxiety disorder. And I definitely wasn’t aware of any mental illness in my family. I had no idea at the time that depression, bipolar disorder, and anxiety would impact every aspect of my life–in both positive and negative ways.

It’s probably not surprising that I have been negatively affected by mental illness. But as I write this post, I realize that there have been positive things about it, too. I have learned the most important lessons in life through suffering and loss.

Even as a therapist, when I heard clients make comments about how they had a bad week, it didn’t fully register how horrible that week was for them. In part because clients don’t elaborate unless you ask them to. Unless they are certain that you really want to know. And because they are embarrassed about it. Ashamed, even. But after going through my worst depression 5 years ago, I have much more compassion when clients make these offhanded comments.

I admit, during that period there were times when suicide would cross my mind. But there were two things that kept me from seriously entertaining it. One is that my dad would be devastated, and I feared he would never recover if I went through with it.

The other reason is that if I took my own life, it would undermine everything I ever said to my clients about how pain passes. That one day when they look back they will realize how strong they were at the time. That they will learn lessons from their suffering that it takes some people a lifetime to learn. How can you believe anything your therapist said if she committed suicide? That would be the ultimate betrayal.

So I spent months willing myself to get better. I went back to therapy, started meds again, meditated and prayed, and forced myself to play tennis and spend time with friends. And I did get better. And everything I said about realizing my strength, becoming more compassionate, and acquiring wisdom were all true. I would have never chosen depression, but we usually don’t choose the experiences that teach us the most about life.

People often ask me how I can listen to client’s problems all day long. In all honesty, I can’t imagine what else I would do for a living. It feels more like psychology chose me. And when I hear a client’s story, I always have hope that together we can change the plot for the better. After all, I always root for the underdog. I am the eternal optimist. And I never back down from a challenge.

There was a time when I would never have told this story about my struggles with depression and anxiety to my students or clients. Or even friends and family. But now I want to share it with the world, because every act of courage benefits someone else. My blog is proof of that.

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Memory

Posted on April 9, 2014 by Christy Barongan

I love the movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” I love the idea that even if you take the memories away, the love between two people remains. And I like the message that we must experience pain in order to experience joy. But lately I’ve been wishing I could erase the painful memories from the past 10 years.

Let me first say that I am thankful for my memory, lest I be struck down with dementia for being ungrateful. It helps in my job because clients expect you to remember everything they’ve told you from the first session on. And when you see 30+ clients a week, that’s a lot of stuff to remember.

The most painful memories help me to have more compassion for other people’s suffering. When I was depressed, I could not conceive of any possible value that could come from my pain. But now that my brother is depressed, I am better able to help him because I know what he’s going through. You’re not afraid to sit with other people’s pain once you know firsthand how lonely it is.

My memory also helps me capture the intensity of my feelings when I write about my experiences, which hopefully makes my blog better. I am guessing that most writers have good memories and intense feelings. But sometimes it can be a tough combination. That’s probably why writers are so neurotic.

Lately there have been some memories that I wish I could forget. Or at least remember without feeling like it’s happening all over again. It’s almost like having PTSD, reliving these hurtful experiences every time they pop up.

Yesterday I remembered how my first husband told me while we were separating that I have a heart of gold. He said it was the happiest day of his life on our wedding day and the saddest day of his life when we signed the divorce papers. How can you feel that way about someone and still choose to leave them? What good does it do to have a heart of gold if it doesn’t help you make a relationship work? In a way I am thankful that he was loving through the entire process, but sometimes I wish I didn’t remember how I felt at all.

The letting go process in my second marriage has been just as painful. It hurts just as much now as it did 4 years ago. It still makes me cry. Every step we take away from each other renews my sadness. When will this grief subside? That whole one year estimation is a bunch of crap. I wish I could just forget the past 4 years–all the pain and all the stupid things I did to try to ease the pain that just made things worse.

The only memories I would miss from the past 4 years are the first trip when my mixed doubles team went to districts, getting Federer’s autograph at the Cincy tournament, and UVA’s basketball season this year. Which makes me seem like some superficial sports fanatic, but it’s true. In my defense, part of what made these experiences memorable is that I shared them with my friends and family. I’m sure there were other positive memories worth holding on to during that period of time, but I can’t think of any at the moment. Right now, all I remember is the pain.

The only good thing about this second divorce is that it helps me understand how you can love someone and still let them go, even when it breaks your heart. I’m not angry at my first husband any more for leaving. I understand why he did it. It doesn’t alleviate the pain of either loss to realize this, but I have a better appreciation for how complex love and marriage are. That’s something.

Today I’m not able to do the things I try to focus on in my blog–practice self-forgiveness, self-acceptance, and self-compassion. But maybe tomorrow I’ll feel differently.

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Let it Go

Posted on March 30, 2014 by Christy Barongan

I love Disney movies. And Disney’s latest, Frozen, is one of my favorites, not only because the music is awesome, but also because it is a story about self-acceptance and love between two sisters.

Elsa is the heir to the throne in the kingdom of Arendale. She has spent her life locked in her room, afraid of her power to create ice and snow, because she accidentally injured her sister Anna when they were children. At her coronation, Elsa’s powers are revealed when she sets off an eternal winter. When she sings the theme song, she is exhilarated that she no longer has to hide her secret. She creates her own palace of ice and snow on an isolated mountain top.

Although Elsa is free from her secret, she still doesn’t want to let her sister into her life. And ironically, in her effort to protect her sister, she accidentally freezes Anna’s heart, which almost kills her. But even then, she still tries to push Anna away, for fear that her powers will do even more damage.

It is not until the end of the movie, when Anna sacrifices her life to save her sister, that Elsa understands that surrendering to love is the answer to controlling her power. She is then able to unfreeze the kingdom and open the doors to the palace.

Tonight my brother called me because he has been depressed and struggling to make it to work. For the first time I shared with him how I had gone through the same thing 5 years ago in an effort to convince him to get on meds and to reassure him that this is not a sign of weakness. He was surprised that I had suffered as he had and that he had not known about it. But it wasn’t his fault, because I didn’t tell any of my brothers about it.

Although I had been on and off meds for several years, this episode forced me to accept that they would have to be a permanent part of my life. As humbling as this was to acknowledge, it was also freeing. But even after I felt better, I still remained in my kingdom of isolation, afraid to let people know.

Writing this blog is the first time I have been completely honest about how dark my depression was. And perhaps sharing my story will save someone else. But in this moment, the most important thing to me is that it saves my brother’s life.

We all have the power to create barriers to keep our loved ones away from the darkness inside us. Yet the real answer is to let go and to bring that darkness into the light.

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Loyalty

Posted on March 19, 2014 by Christy Barongan

When it comes to sports, I am loyal to a fault.

In a previous post, I talked about the delusional level of optimism that my brothers and I must channel at times to continue to cheer for UVA football. My brother emailed me recently to ask if I wanted to renew our season tickets–which I did. Even though we only won 2 whole games last season.

I captain several tennis leagues every year. And every year, I invite all of the players from the previous season back to the team unless they’ve done something I consider egregious–like not show up for a match. Or not respond to my emails. Or cause drama on or off the court. I can tolerate a player with a losing record, but I won’t tolerate a person who disrespects me or other people.

There are many captains who have the opposite recruiting strategy: they will tolerate a strong but less likeable player but get rid of a nice person who is a weak player.  Because the point of forming a team is to win, after all. I get that. And I’ve had winning teams. But I’ll admit, I sometimes choose loyalty over winning.

I’ve had friends leave my team and play for other captains because of this. I can’t really fault them for wanting to be on a winning team. But I am grateful for the friends who continue to play for me, because it makes our team feel more like a family. In fact, the tennis family that I featured in a previous post are all long-standing members of my mixed doubles team.

This team happens to be my winnningest team, too.  So loyalty does pay off sometimes.

This year, for the first time in 38 years, UVA won the ACC tournament in basketball. And for the first time ever, we were both the regular season and tournament champions. And we did it without any superstar athletes.  Without anyone noticing, really. Because when you win with defense, it’s not flashy.  So we didn’t get as much press as some of the high profile teams in our conference.

I was there when they won the tournament, and what impressed me the most about them–other than how awesome they are–is how humble they are. No one sticking their faces in the camera talking smack about how they proved their haters wrong. Not even any “we’re number one” stuff. No ego at all. Just a joyful celebration of their accomplishment as a team. As a basketball family.

It takes faith at every level to be loyal to a losing team. In the post-game interview, Tony Bennett thanked God for getting his team through the low times. Bennett had faith that a team without a single McDonald’s All-American player could accomplish great things. The players had faith that defense and unselfish play could win championships. And UVA fans had faith that someday, our basketball team could return to the glory days of the Ralph Sampson era.

So this post is dedicated to the 2014 ACC regular season and tournament champs. See you in Texas at the Final Four!

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God’s Will

Posted on February 26, 2014 by Christy Barongan

It feels incomplete to talk about blame and free will without also talking about God’s will. This one is the scariest of the 3 to write about, but I’m committed to being honest, so I’m making myself do it.

When I was in high school, my best friend’s father died of a heart attack in his early 40’s. During the funeral, his best friend broke down crying while giving the eulogy. My friend’s mom calmly took his place, saying that she believed her husband’s death was God’s will so she was at peace with it.

That really bothered me. I was glad that it gave her comfort, but I could not fathom how God could want someone to die. If deaths are God’s will, how can it be a sin to commit suicide? Or murder, for that matter. Or acts of terrorism. All of these deaths would just be a part of God’s plan; these people were simply fulfilling their roles. In fact, sin wouldn’t even be possible.

There is someone in our tennis community who is reaching the end of her battle with cancer. Although I did not know her well, I was struck by how positive and kind she was when I met her last year. She was in the midst of chemo at the time, and she was my opponent on the court. And she kicked my ass. Which was both impressive and upsetting, given my competitive nature.

I have been praying for her and her family, but I struggle with what to ask God for if death is, in fact, part of God’s plan for her. I know some people don’t believe in God for this reason. Or if God exists, they don’t want to worship a God who would allow people to suffer. I wouldn’t go that far. It is clear from the life of Christ and the teachings of Buddha, and probably most religions, that no one is immune to suffering.

I accept that, but it’s still hard to tolerate. I try to imagine what it would be like to be her or her loved ones, but I can’t. My brain won’t let me go there. It’s too painful. Too much to bear. I can’t envision surviving a loss like that, even though I know that somehow I would if I had to.

I do my usual prayer. Because we’re allowed to ask, even if we don’t always get what we want. God, if at all possible, please let her have a miraculous recovery. And then I say a more realistic prayer. Please minimize their suffering to the extent possible.  Please surround them with love, to mitigate the pain. 

I am no theologian, but based on the story of Adam and Eve, one thing is for certain: God wants us to have free will. We, too, have the power to say no. We can choose not to follow God’s plan. We can choose not to love God, or not to love at all.

In the midst of tragedies, the people involved always say that they are humbled by the outpouring of love and support from people they don’t even know. That it does mitigate the pain. So I will continue to pray for this member of the tennis community and her family. If love can ease their pain, then I will choose love.

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The Best Valentine’s Day Gift

Posted on February 15, 2014 by Christy Barongan

I’ve gotten a lot better at this being alone thing. But the one thing I have dreaded is today, Valentine’s Day. The day that singles people everywhere are told that they suck. It’s the first time in a long time that I have no one to celebrate it with.

Despite all of my declarations about how I was no longer going to subject myself to the media’s brainwashing after the Aqua-Fresh toothpaste incident, I still want to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Yes, its a made-up holiday, but so what. It’s an excuse to eat chocolate, go to a nice restaurant, give and receive gifts. It’s a chance to celebrate, and I’ll take any excuse I can get to celebrate.

But I’ve been trying to put this disappointment in perspective. When I was married, both husbands forgot Valentine’s Day one year, and that really sucked. So it’s not like being in a relationship guarantees that you’ll have a good Valentine’s Day. To be honest, most of them haven’t even been that memorable.

In fact, the gifts I remember the most are the ones from my dad. When I was younger he always bought a heart-shaped box of chocolates for my mom and me. I had the smaller box, of course. And last year he gave me this beautiful necklace with a gold heart pendant that says “For my daughter” on one side and “You are my pride and joy” on the other side. What guy can compete with that?

And the best card I’ve ever gotten was from my baby brother, Romeo.  I was 16 at the time, and I was talking to a friend on the phone, lamenting the fact that I wasn’t going to get anything for Valentine’s Day—not even a card.

Then for some reason I was talking about my fears of death and getting old, which I told you about in a previous blog.  Romeo was playing on the living room floor, seemingly oblivious to my conversation.  But when he heard me talk about getting old, he stopped playing and said that he was afraid of getting old, too.  He was 9 at the time, so maybe the fear of aging runs in my family.


A few minutes later, Romeo came running down the hall, telling me that he made a card for me. I had forgotten how quickly you can make a card when you’re a kid. It was made with blue construction paper and a red crayon. There were some hearts and a Happy Valentine’s Day on the front. And inside he wrote that I didn’t need to worry about getting old and that he loved me. Or something to that effect. I wasn’t able to read it very clearly, what with the tears and all.

After that I understood why parents prefer the cards that their kids spend 5 minutes making over the cards that their kids spend 5 minutes buying at Hallmark. I have received many Valentine’s Day cards since then, and that one is by far my favorite.

Maybe it’s good that I was alone on Valentine’s Day this year.  My solitude has given me the opportunity to realize that I’ve never been alone on Valentine’s Day.  I’ve always been loved and always will be loved by my family.   And there’s no better gift than that, really.

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Friendship, Part 2

Posted on February 3, 2014 by Christy Barongan

Warriors in Training

When I was in grad school, I didn’t have many visitors because it was a long drive and there was not a lot to do in the middle of Ohio. So I saw my family and friends infrequently, and every time I said good-bye I felt this overwhelming sadness–and not just because I wouldn’t see them for a long time. I was also sad because when I was with them, I was completely myself, and I rarely felt free to be myself.

Part of the problem was that the feeling of being different followed me well into my adult years. I wasn’t like the other grad students. I watched reruns of The Flintstones and Gillian’s Island rather than keeping up with what Koresh was doing in Waco. I wasn’t spending 70-80 hours a week on grad school stuff. I didn’t listen to the right music, didn’t hang out at the cool coffee places.

I moved around a lot during that time, too. While I was with my first husband, we moved almost every year because he was never happy where we were–which turned out to be more about him than our location. Still, I didn’t mind the excuse to not get too close to anyone.

When I finally moved back to Virginia and became a part of the tennis community here, I was a little freaked out. There was no way I could avoid being a part of the gossip, what with my failed marriages and all. Plus, I only dated tennis players, so everyone knew who my partners were. I had no place to hide; giving up tennis was not an option. I had to let people know what I was really like.

Of all the gifts that tennis has given me, my tennis family is the best one of all. These are the only other people who I can be myself around without obsessing afterwards about what I said or did. They have seen me throw up on the court. They’ve been there when I’ve gotten kicked out of restaurants for being too loud. They don’t judge me for always being hungry and constantly having to pee. They don’t expect me to make anything for potluck dinners because they know I can’t cook. (But I do bring the Karaoke and board games.) They even indulge my grandiosity by calling me the Queen of the court.

Often the feedback I get about my blog is about how honest I am. In an I wouldn’t do it, but good for you! kind of way. I’m tired of hiding. I spent the first half of my life trying to be like everyone else. I want to spend the second half being myself.

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In Agreement

Posted on January 24, 2014 by Christy Barongan
You know that whole “agree to disagree” motto?   I can’t do it.  I don’t like it when people disagree with me.  So much so that I have considered “unfollowing” anyone on FB who expresses an opinion different from my own.  But then I wouldn’t have any friends and there would be no one left to read my blog.

People say that if we all shared the same views on everything, life would be boring.  I don’t believe that.  I work at a school where many students come here because they want to be around people just like themselves, and they seem pretty happy about it.

It’s like when people say that living in paradise would be boring after awhile.  Unless you’ve actually lived in paradise, you don’t know how you would feel.  There’s lots of research that demonstrates that we are terrible predictors of how we will think, feel, and act in the future.  Check out Stumbling on Happiness if you don’t believe me.

Nevertheless, I realize that my attitude is hypocritical.  One of my areas of expertise is diversity, which is about accepting differences.  And I’m pretty good at that in most areas–ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation.  But not politics.  And I feel completely justified in rooting against Virginia Tech every chance I get.  And if someone doesn’t like Roger Federer, I never forget it.

In my defense, part of the reason I don’t like disagreeing is that for me, it’s more important to feel connected to other people than it is to point out our differences.  If I go shopping with a friend and they want my opinion on an outfit, I would never say something like “that makes your butt look big.”  If they like the outfit, who am I to tell them not to get it?

But I like to be honest.  So instead of giving my opinion, I would ask them a bunch of questions.  How much do you want to spend?  When would you wear it?  Do you have anything in your wardrobe that goes with it?  Then they can decide for themselves if they think it’s worth buying.

Even though I don’t like disagreeing, I am not one to shy away from conflict.  My parents tell me that I should have been a lawyer because I like to argue.  I’m sure my previous romantic partners would agree.  In an argument, because I have an excellent memory and high empathy, I would use what they said–and what they felt but didn’t say–against them.

Now that I think about it, maybe I’m not that greeable.  In fact, I’ve been making arguments in this post on agreement.  But that’s OK.  We like to think of things as being mutually exclusive but the truth is, we can be both, depending on the circumstances.

In this moment, as I mourn Federer’s loss against Nadal in the semi-finals of the Australian Open, I’m feeling pretty disagreeable.  So if you see me today, proceed with caution.

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Midlife

Posted on January 17, 2014 by Christy Barongan

I don’t like getting older. I even obsessed about it as a child.  When I was around 7, I remember asking my dad if you get to choose your age when you go to heaven, and he said yes. Every year I would choose my current age, because I was sure that the next year would be worse.

I had a plan for what I would do when I got old: I would use Oil of Olay to prevent wrinkles, Clairol to dye my hair, and Coast soap to bring me back to life–because that was their slogan, which I took literally. That shows you the power of advertising.

I didn’t consider myself middle-aged until I turned 43. I’m immature for my age in a lot of ways because I still live the life of a college student–a night owl with no children and no spouse whose work revolves around the academic calendar.

Although my mind is still somewhere in my 20’s, my body has proceeded at a normal developmental pace. Once I hit 43, I became far-sighted. My knees hurt all the time–not just after playing tennis 5-6 times in a row. I started dying my hair.

I don’t want other people to get older, either. Every year I tell my niece that she has to stay the same age. Whenever I leave my parents’ house, I feel anxious at the thought of seeing them sick or debilitated someday. I am terrified of losing them. I got a glimpse of what it would be like when my dad was depressed, and I did not handle it well.

I try to practice gratitude, self-compassion, and mindfulness to accept the aging process. I try to remember what I have to be thankful for in this moment, try to enjoy my blessings while I have them. I tell myself that lots of people have these fears–it doesn’t make me crazy. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.

It helps some. But I’m still afraid.

There are only two things that I look forward to about getting older. One is that I will continue to become a better therapist because I will have seen more clients, had more life experience, and will possess more wisdom.

The other thing is that my writing will improve for the same reasons. I have wanted to write a book since high school. In the 10th grade we had a writing assignment where we had to project what we would be doing in the future. I wrote a mock interview where I was 45, answering questions about my book.

So it’s no coincidence that I made my first effort to publish my writing through blogging at the age of 44. I realized that if I wanted to make something happen for myself, I had to start now.

So I guess that’s one good thing about being middle-aged: as you reflect on the first half of your life, you realize what you have to do to make the most out of the second half.

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