In life, there are certain moments and journeys that forever change your perspective and way of thinking.  Currently, we are living in a time in which we are truly forced to slow down, and it is not surprising that TV has become an outlet for many to escape the challenges that living in a socially isolated society present. New and exiting shows on streaming services such as Netflix or HBO GO become ways to connect with others and pass the time that we are being asked to spend inside our homes. In fact, I have personally delved into the depths of Netflix over the past two months and have found shows and series that I otherwise would have never known if it wasn’t for the COVID-19  crisis. Although I have watched many shows lately that I have found great value in, one in particular has changed my life for the better and expanded my mind in profound ways. At 2am on a Saturday night, I embarked on a spiritual and mind bending journey with my boyfriend, James, thorough a podcast- turned- animated series called The Midnight Gospel.

The show follows a space-caster named Clancy who visits various worlds within his universe simulator (that not so coincidentally resembles a vagina), and the interactions he finds himself navigating through while interviewing the eclectic residents of the different planets that he explores. The show’s audio used during Clancy’s interviews come directly from the famous podcast called The Duncan Trussell Family Hour, which is the actual podcast of the show’s creator Duncan Trussell. Pendleton Ward, the man most well known for the animation behind the hit show Adventure Time, creates the trippy universe in which Clancy navigates and the sometimes outrageous and intense visuals that can’t help but to often contrast the dialogue that is occurring simultaneously. In fact, it is not out of the realm of possibility for the show to to dissect topics such as recreational drug usage and the opioid crisis,  while concurrently battling alongside the President in an Earth infused zombie apocalypse. The show not only pushes the boundaries of conventional animation, but also challenges the mind to find the beautiful juxtapositions that exist between the audio and visual.

Although many viewers can watch The Midnight Gospel and be overwhelmed by the sometimes frantic sensory overload, the themes that this show touches upon are so dense in content and philosophy and make for a beautiful and mind opening journey. Since Duncan Trussell’s Family Hour interviews people who are experts in topics such as mindfulness and meditation (just to name a few!), it’s no wonder why the content of the show is so rich and the dialogue chosen is so free flowing. The Midnight Gospel isn’t afraid to bring to the surface topics that make us question our own existence such as transcendentalism, forgiveness, addiction, what it means to be present, and even grappling with the impending death of a loved one. As Clancy delves deeper into his psychedelic simulated world, we find that much of his inner struggles and manifestations come to a head and further lead him to a journey of self actualization through the people he comes into contact with. This journey through self and understanding is beautifully played out in the last episode of Season 1, where Duncan has his most emotional and raw interview of the series that can’t help but to move audiences to tears.

While I am not one to suggest binge watching a TV series at 2am, The Midnight Gospel was a journey that I highly recommend to all who are introspective and open to expanding their conscious mind. In fact, I can honestly say that this show deepened my relationship with James and created a platform for talking about topics in a way that is inquisitive and thought provoking. The lessons learned from this 4 hour journey have bonded us in insurmountable ways that I would have never guessed that a cartoon show could facilitate in such a short amount of time. If you are a fan of Rick and Morty, or just want to watch a show that takes you on a wild trip, I highly recommend this series and hope that you find the same benefits that I have. Here’s to expanding our minds and making the most of this time we have to explore different worlds, even if it’s just through a simulation.

 

 

 

Hello Friends,

It’s Emily writing on Day 22-ish of lockdown from my 600 square foot Chicago apartment that I am currently hunkered down in (honestly it could be any day at this rate; they’ve all ran together in my world). My wardrobe now consists of mainly sweatpants and crewnecks, and I am surviving on Netflix, online shopping, and the occasional Postmates meal that I am ordering to support local businesses. Parks and running trails are closed and grocery stores are limiting how many people can be inside at once and how many supplies one individual can have (thanks to the people who hoarded toilet paper, Lysol wipes, and dry goods at the beginning of this mess….). Life as we know it for everyone has been completely turned upside-down thanks to COVID-19, and nearly every semblance of “normal” life has been changed to combat this global pandemic. It seems like long ago were the days where we could sit in restaurants with friends for a meal, enjoy vacations abroad, hug and kiss the ones we love, and where we weren’t afraid of strangers in our immediate proximity. Fear is a common feeling these days and it seems like no matter where we turn, talk of the virus is all consuming. It truly is unprecedented times we are living in and it feels as though I am living in a simulation for doomsday.

If you would have asked me month ago if I could envision a world in “lockdown” where life as we knew it would come to a halt due to a virus, I would have thought you were mad. Maybe I was idealistic to believe that our healthcare system in the United States was equipped to deal with such a rapidly spreading, and in some cases fatal, illness, or that hospitals themselves were ensured with enough protective equipment to keep our healthcare workers safe. Even though I know our healthcare system is very broken and very backwards and needs SERIOUS reform, I truly though that, “it couldn’t happen to us” here in the States.  Unfortunately, I was so wrong about so many things and those are just a few of the many things I was wrong about! Luckily for me and at this time, my hospital has remained relatively unscathed from serious COVID-19 cases. Fortunately, children by and large have yielded better outcomes than adults respectively; a phenomenon that scientist are still trying to understand. However, we are on alert at all times wearing protective equipment throughout our shifts and we prepared for the worst, treating everyone with respiratory symptoms as a potential COVID-19 positive case until proven otherwise by testing.

As life began to slowly strip away in efforts to “flatten the curve”, the initial shock of the new realities of a “Shelter In Place” lifestyle were difficult to navigate. The first few days of this regulated lifestyle that consists of staying at home and minimal outside or human interaction proved to be emotionally distressing and spiritually challenging. As someone who is extroverted, the concept of hunkering down alone in my apartment for an unknown amount of time was enough to cause me to panic. To make matters worse, the weather in Chicago was perpetually cold and gloomy and the luxury of a walk outside in fresh air was not a feasible option. It seemed as though my realities were to be limited to going to work as an “essential employee” and finding ways to keep myself busy in my small apartment. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. It seemed as though every aspect of my life was taken hostage by this virus and it was all encompassing. The gym and running trails were closed, my upcoming vacations were cancelled, I was separated from my family and friends, I hadn’t put on makeup for weeks and looked “feral” at best, and every conversation was dominated by COVID-19 and the “breaking news” surrounding the updates and rising death toll. I was on edge with everyone and I felt myself slowly slipping into a depression and I was living in the narrative where everything I had once looked forward to was dismantled and taken away from me like a punishment for some unbeknownst wrongdoing. My resilience was starting to rapidly chip away and I wasn’t sure how I would get through this lockdown period without completely falling apart.

I initially went into this past weekend feeling down and defeated. After all, I had 7 days consecutively off of work and I had planned to spend this time in California visiting friends, my significant other, and looking into potential career moves. In addition, my boyfriend had planned a wonderful weekend getaway in Palm Springs and our “first date” at Disneyland’s Food and Wine Festival on Sunday. I was looking forward to this trip to Los Angeles for months, and I was heartbroken that it could not come to fruition. In good concious to do our part to flatten the curve, we had to put our plans on hold for the greater good and “rain check” it for another time when life returns back to normal.

Dating long distance comes with a set challenges all on their own, but much of the “normal struggles” have been intensified due to our state’s respective lockdown initiatives and the sheer fact that regardless of our “wants” during this time, we simply cannot be together. It’s easy to get frustrated and defeated when the basis of the newly founded relationship has become dependent on increased, open-communication and having to learn about each other in a “crash course” fashion and by makeshift virtual dates.  Luckily we have found ways to remedy some of these issues and our planned Sunday Disney date was supplemented by a Zoom session over wine and charcuterie in our respective homes, while Disney tunes serenaded us in the background. We chose to make the most of our situation and dug into the importance of making time for each other daily, even though we can’t be together in person. Our conversations have deepened over this time spent apart and I can honestly say that we have faced and worked through many challenging times as a team and will hopefully leave this experience as a stronger and better unit.  This is a theme that rings familiar to so many as relationships have been tested and widespread events cancelled in order to stop the spread of the virus and to keep more people safe. Now more than ever, WE are truly being tested in our resilience not only as a society, but as individual people.

Although I have had to learn to adapt to this new lifestyle and the changes that have accompanied it, I have taken so many positives away from the scary time. I realize that I have so much to be thankful for and that I am truly lucky: I have my health, I have a career that makes a difference, I have a roof over my head, food in my refrigerator, my family is safe back home, and I have a wonderful support system. I have been literally forced to slow down and make time for myself and invest in self-care based routines such as face masks, DIY mani/pedis, daily meditation, and catching up on Netflix shows in my queue that I’ve shrugged off because I “didn’t have time”. I no longer take for granted the luxuries of my life that I had a month ago: running on Lake Shore Drive, hugging my friends, petting a random dog on the street, going out to restaurants and bars, going on vacation, and the privilege to say “no”  to an invitation to go out and be social (not that I ever did that before anyway!). I miss the ignorant bliss that my life once was and not feeling as though I’m a public threat for wearing scrubs outside of the hospital or even going outside my front door period. This time in isolation has caused me to lean into Face-timing with friends and reaching out intentionally to check up on people that I haven’t spoken to months. I am reconnecting and investing in my relationships instead of “staying busy” to escape and fill my days. I realize now more than ever how important human connection and interaction are and how vital it is to feel a sense of belonging amidst this mayhem that is currently plaguing our world. It is easy to get lonely and fearful during this time, especially with how unknown our future is and our sense of routine completely disrupted. However, I am hopeful that we are collectivley able to come out of this pandemic more grounded and appreciative for the lessons that it has taught us, the things that have been taken away, and that we can recognize what is truly important in life.

From here on out, I am going to consciously change my narrative to one of unbelievable gratitude and blessings.

I am navigating this Lockdown with appreciation for:

• Daily check in’s with my friends about our mental health
• Zoom meetings with my family that I normally wouldn’t get to see or reach out to regularly
• Dance parties in my apartment and artist’s releasing new music for us to enjoy
• Friend’s who continue to teach regular virtual yoga classes, halfway around the world
• Planned FaceTime dates and increased connectivity and communication
• Service workers who continue to go to work in order to keep essential businesses open
• Downtime to write more and be still with my thoughts (like this blog!)
• Wedding invitations that come in my mail that remind me how much I have to look forward to
• The 8pm cheering that occurs every night outside of my window to thank essential workers and bring together our community
• The promise of a better and more loving future
• A partner who truly puts in the work, even when I’m not easy or our relationship is  not the most conventional

 

These are just a few examples of things that I have taken away, and I know as time goes on the list will continue to grow. For now, I’m taking this day by day and minute by minute. I’m allowing myself to feel all of my feelings and sit with them, but not let them define how I see the world or my new reality. I hope all who read this find comfort and peace in the fact that we are all in this together. We’ve got this, and you know you always have a friend in me to turn to when things get tough ❤

 

 

Ah… Galentine’s Day. The day in which Instagram and local brunch hot spots are flooded with droves of women, “whooping it up” in honor of female friendships and projecting the spirit of, “ladies celebrating ladies”.  This unofficial holiday was created in 2010 by Leslie Knope, a character in the hit show Parks and Recreation, to bring together her closest lady friends the day before Valentine’s Day to leave their husbands, boyfriends, (and Tinder dates) at home to “come kick it, breakfast-style”. If Galentine’s Day doesn’t sound awesome enough, Parks and Recreation is the same show that also introduced me to October 13th’s “Treat Yo Self” Day; the day in which you quite literally treat yourself to anything and everything because you can and YOU DESERVE IT DAMNIT!  For those of you who know me well, you know that if there’s anything in this world that I like most, it’s brunch, hanging with my ladies, and any excuse to celebrate life. And a day that intentionally celebrates my friends and our friendships while simultaneously providing me with awesome drink specials….  well, honey, count me in!

To no one’s surprise, I consider myself a, “Girl’s Girl” and this identity is one that I’ve grown more into as time has progressed. In college I was in a sorority with 250+ women and lived in a house with upwards of 60 women at one time. While many people think that this sounds like a literal nightmare and would never willingly subject themselves to that amount of bathroom waiting time and clogged hair drains, if I could do it all over again, I absolutely would. I thrive on Girl’s Nights that prioritize wine, cheese, and therapeutic venting on the couch, and I still have group sleepovers with friends from high school. To put it simply, I value and prioritize female driven relationships that are not only empowering, but also supportive and foster safe spaces for sharing emotions and experiences. When I am struggling, I find refuge in my closest girlfriends and I am no stranger to sending affirmations of love and positivity to the women in my “tribe” who are going through a difficult time in return. While I have many strong options that can be controversial at times, I believe wholeheartedly that society has benefited upon pitting women against each other via shame and comparison, all the while, creating unrealistic expectations for women,  harboring a breeding ground for “mean girl” behavior and insecurity. And while I know that I alone cannot change the overall attitude of society overnight, I sure as hell can create a culture of unconditional love, security, and acceptance for the friends I have in my life.

Although Galentine’s Day was a week, (and many vodka sodas) ago, I wanted to write this blog to share my experience and to tell the story of why this day is so meaningful to me.

I remember November 9th, 2019 as clear as a crystal. I had been dumped by my ex-boyfriend at the time, and I was DEVASTATED. I’m talking, “the sky is falling, the world will cease to spin, I will inevitably die alone” kind of feeling provoked by my broken heart and breakup songs playing on repeat in the background. Besides my mother who intercepted the initial 5:30 am call of inconsolability, the people who I turned to immediately for solace were my closest girlfriends. I called any and every woman in my life who could rally behind my exhausted and tear soaked ass to lift me up from my pits of despair, loneliness, and self loathing. When the time came to show up and “walk the talk”,  they showed up tenfold with words of love and support, bottles of wine and white claws, and playlists filled with Lizzo and Ariana Grande. I didn’t have to walk alone on this journey through heartbreak and navigate through all the heavy feelings that accompany a breakup by myself;  I had a support network of friends who genuinely cared and wanted to see me rise again from the ashes. (As I write this now, a myriad of people come into mind who were by my side during this time and a lifetime of thank-you’s and shoutouts would never be enough to express my gratitude. You all truly are my heart and I am thankful everyday that I found such amazing people in this lifetime.)

As the reality of life, sans boyfriend, became more clear, the panic of returning to the rat race of single life began to settle in simultaneously. My mind immediately jumped to the upcoming holidays being spent alone, and I began envisioning my Instagram feed on Valentine’s Day filled with happy couples posting about their celebratory night and montages of all the memories they’ve cultivated over the years. I was dreading the impending social media highlight reel of “successful” relationships, and the holiday’s reminder that I was SURELY going to die alone, probably in an exceptionally dramatic fashion, and most certianlty clutching a bottle of nice champagne.

The thought of spending Valentine’s Day weekend alone in my Chicago apartment, crying and ordering takeout was too much for freshly broken up with brain to process, so I immediately reached out to one of my best friends Sammy Jo and we cultivated the ultimate plan 3 months in advance: Galentine’s Weekend NYC Extravaganza. It may have only been November, I couldn’t let this breakup get the best of me, and I knew that time was long overdue with one of my best friends anyway. Hell, we both needed the pick me up to lift us up from our men problems, and who better to share the commiseration with than with a girl who understands you on the deepest level? In addition and more importantly, Sammy was turning 30 soon, and she deserved to be celebrated for all that she is and all that she means to me.

I met Sammy Jo in Ibiza while traveling throughout Europe to attend a music festival called Tomorrowland. We had briefly seen (but mostly heard about each other) through mutual friends that we had crossed paths with en route to Belgium. We were both notorious, loud, American party girls who were making names for themselves and it was only fitting that we became fast friends once we began to talk. I remember how kind and open she was when we first met in our hostel, and it felt as if I had known her for years even if it was only for a few minutes. As time went on, our friendship blossomed and we found out quickly that to the core, we are so similar. Raised both as only children, we view the world through similar lenses and there’s a sense of deep understanding between us. Not a day goes by where we don’t talk, and she is someone who’s opinion and presence is valued wholeheartedly in my life. She is forever part of my “tribe” and a sister to my soul.

We spent a long weekend in NYC devoted to the things we loved and that made us genuinely happy. From seeing the musical Chicago on Broadway, to drinking wine and eating 1am pizza in hotel room robes, going to a Red Haute party at the illustrious House of Yes, and dancing to Galantis in colorful wigs, we reminded ourselves that friendship really is the best medicine and what we need most in this lifetime. We watched hungover reruns of Sex in the City in her Brooklyn apartment and drank Cosmopolitans in honor of the friendships and fabulousness of the show. To top the weekend off, we even went ice skating at Rockefeller Center, a goal date that I’ve been scheming to do and have failed to accomplish since 2017! This past weekend and the spirit of Galentine’s Day is a mere reminder that fostering strong friendships is vital and of the utmost importance to me. When I think of my life and the memories thus far that stand out and warm my heart, there is almost always a girl in my life that is right by my side along for the ride.

WE deserve to celebrate each other and to be celebrated, and my opinion is that Galentine’s Day shouldn’t just be restricted to one official day on February 13th. So crank up the girl power anthems (I’m thinking circa 1997 Spice Girls), pour yourself and your gal’s some Cosmopolitans (or whatever drink you fancy), and celebrate the friends in your life who lift you up. This day is for us ladies, and I’ll always drink to that ❤

 

 

“I don’t think anyone can grow unless he’s loved exactly as he is now, appreciated for what he is rather than what he will be.”- Fred Rogers

 

On a dreary and rainy Black Friday Night, I entered a theater with my parents to watch a film called A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. This film is based off a true story of a cynical journalist who’s assignment is to write a piece in Esquire about Mister Rogers and his heroism. As everyone’s favorite, friendly neighbor, it is no wonder why this assignment came to be and why Mister Rogers was chosen for such an interview in 1998. What was meant to be a small 400 word snippet in the magazine, eventually became a headline story that graced the news stands across the nation. As the movie plot unfolds, we learn more about the journalist named Lloyd Vogel (who’s real name is Tom Junod) and his internal conflict with his father, which manifests itself in his overall attitude and skepticism regarding the kind and docile nature of Fred Rogers and his beloved children’s program Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Despite Lloyd’s brash demeanor and initial disconnect from Fred, Fred remains hopeful and sees the pain in Lloyd that is so universal. Fred continues to lead with kindness and allows Lloyd to take his time to open up, allowing for small increments of healing to occur, at his own pace and without expectation or judgment. Through compassion and understanding, Lloyd is able to see himself, as well as the world, in a different light and make amends with not only himself, but the ones in life who love, yet, hurt him the most. This film is such beautiful piece that not only touches on who Fred Rogers was, but also sheds light on the importance of acceptance and healing our own “inner child” that lives within each of us.

Growing up, and still to this day, I have always enjoyed children’s TV programming and I believe it is so vital to the development of children both educationally and emotionally. Shows such as Sesame Street and Barney were monumental in shaping my childhood, as well as so many other’s in my generation. In fact, if I could achieve one thing in my lifetime that I would be so proud of, it would be to assist in an episode of Sesame Street or have a cameo on the show (I could literally write a dissertation on the importance of that show regarding urbanization in the 1970’s but thats for another blog and another day!). It is shows like these that have helped so many children learn cornerstone things such as letters, numbers, reading, language formation, and the importance of being a good “friend”. These are lessons that children innately need to learn to be able to progress both academically and socially, and to become people who can function within society. In fact, as an adult who often watches such children’s programs at work, I find myself reliving my childhood and enjoying the refreshers on character development that our favorite childhood friends taught us not so long ago. Often, these programs that were viewed in childhood bind generations of people and span far beyond our own home TV sets and into the world itself. They are a staple of who we are as adults and the reminder that these lessons through children’s TV programming are universal and withstand the test of time.

Although Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood primarily ran from the 1970’s-1990’s, I remember intermittent sprinkled in episodes of his show on PBS when I was a child. In the world of animated technicolor shows such as Arthur, and grandeur of Barney & Friends, it was easy to think that Mister Rogers was a tad bland and boring. After all, what could be so exciting about an old man in a sweater, with vintage puppets, trying to show me around his neighborhood? It wasn’t until this film, and as I sat next to my parents reliving their childhood, that I realized the significance of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood and the impact that both he and his show had on children. As I watched Tom Hanks embody the spirit of Fred Rogers, it is so apparent how Fred lived his life both on screen and off.  As a vessel of comfort to both the young and old, he encouraged children to explore their feelings, especially the “Big” feelings such as anger, sadness, and disappointment that can be difficult to navigate even as an adult. He never shamed anyone for feeling things, nor encouraged them to subconsciously suppress emotions by distracting them or telling them to “let the feeling go”. In fact, Mister Rogers did the opposite; he acknowledged the “Big” feeling and empathically sat with you, validating that what you felt was OK, and that although you may be feeling “Big” things you don’t necessarily understand, that you were not alone and that what you felt could be managed. He wrote songs about how to manage such feelings and used play and puppetry to further explore what you felt, especially when it was hard to comprehend or even verbalize the feelings themselves. He humanized the experience of emotional regulation and gave a safe space for children, as well as adults, to explore their “Big” feelings in a nonjudgemental way, much like a therapist would.

“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”- Fred Rogers

 

As I reflect back on  A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, one particular scene stands out to me that embodies not only the manifest of Fred Rogers, but the importance of acknowledging our own childhood and healing journey. Lloyd and Fred are in Fred’s NYC apartment for an interview and Lloyd asks him why he does not get new, upgraded puppets for the show. After all, Mister Roger’s puppet friend Daniel Tiger had been around since the initial filming date in 1968 and he looked a little tattered from his 30 years of adventure in the neighborhood! (And yes, this is based off the exact same Daniel Tiger in the current cartoon TV show Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood). Through Daniel Tiger, Fred simply asks Lloyd if he had a childhood friend growing up and if Lloyd could talk to Daniel about him and introduce them. We learn that despite Lloyd’s demeanor of coldness, he in fact had a childhood friend named “Old Rabbit” that he loved very much as a child. Although this encounter and reflection causes Lloyd to initially close off and break down, we start to gradually see the undoing of years of anger and resentment after the acknowledgment of his childhood, and so the healing begins. Similarly to Mister Rogers, I believe inside of each one of us lies an “inner child” that exists and so much of our responses as adults stem from the shame and trauma that we experienced and were conditioned to respond to in childhood. In fact, there are methods in psychotherapy that are aimed at healing and “re-parenting” your inner child to better understand and regulate how we feel and respond. It is no coincidence why as adults we find ourselves relating to children’s programming and seeing the deeper message that lies beneath the surface of simple dialogue and informalities. In fact, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was revolutionary in discussing heavy topics such as death, divorce, grieving, and war in a time where “talking about your feelings” wasn’t a social norm. And although Fred Rogers was not a clinical therapist, there is an air of therapeutic healing as I rewatch his episodes over the years.

To no one’s surprise, I have a passion for caring for others, especially children. As an ICU nurse in a pediatric hospital, my job consists of medicine mixed with lots of play and laughs to help ease the difficulties that critical illness can cause. As a child, the hospital can be a scary and traumatic place, filled with strangers who don’t always do “nice” or “fun” things. In fact, at times my job can be heavy spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and physically. And If I as the nurse feel the weight of such gravity, I can only imagine what the small child and family who I am caring for feels. In fact, recently I have had to sit down and help struggling children make sense of their illness and learn how to manage their feelings, especially ones they do not fully understand. Through these challenging assignments ,(and I admit, it felt like I was looking at a mirror as to how I deal and process my own feelings of the unknown and my own anxieties), I found myself relating to that small, fearful child in the bed, just trying to make sense of the world. Luckily, we have ancillary services such as Child Life Specialists, Social Workers, and Chaplains to help us nurses and our patients navigate these new and scary times through play, communication, and sometimes, “just being there”. It takes a village to care for our children, and I am so lucky to be surrounded by my “Real Life Mister Rogers” figures who pour so much love, consideration, and compassion into what they do. It is people like this, and Mister Rogers, who inspire me to be a kinder, more empathic and understanding nurse, as well as a friend and daughter.

“If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person.” – Fred Rogers

 

There is such purity and goodness in who Fred Rogers was, and the attitude he consciously choose to emulate to all he encountered. Mister Rogers loved who you were in that moment, not who you though you needed to be to receive love. Everyone was his neighbor, as well as a friend. It didn’t matter what you looked like, or where you came from; you were unconditionally accepted for who you were. There was a sense of belonging in his neighborhood and even the most skeptical of people found their place in his life and came to an understanding of who he genuinely was as a man. A life that embodies these principals and believes in the inherent goodness of humanity is a life that does not come naturally; rather it is a life that is guided by choosing to see the goodness and humanity in others. It is a mindset that is shaped by the awareness of one’s ego and the ability to see that all people at their core are “doing their best”, without the need for judgement or criticism. It is a mindset that is continuously worked upon through self reflection and actualization that, in deed we are flawed, yet we still strive to be the best for ourselves and one another. It is having grace when it is difficult, restraint when you would rather impulsively respond, and empathy when you see another struggling. This mindset does not seek to diminish the experiences of others, but rather give solace to souls in distress. The world needs more love, more compassion, and more people like Fred Rogers. Although I am far from perfect and I too am embarking on a healing journey, today I can choose to be a better, more kind, more loving Neighbor. Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

“Love isn’t a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now.”- Fred Rogers

 

 

 

How beautiful it is to love someone with all of your heart and soul. Learning how to unconditionally love, seeking to accept and understand another person, despite faults and shortcomings. Through darkness and light, learning to grow alongside the other and truly know what it means to  “see” another for who they really are. I had the privilege of having just that; I had the privilege of loving another person with every fiber of my being.

Four months ago, I met a man who would unexpectedly change my life on my twenty sixth birthday. We met in Croatia and had a once in a life time experience of sailing a beautiful week together at Yacht Week. As the days progressed, a spark was ignited, and I began to develop a deep affinity for him. We danced the entire week together, spent nights in each other’s arms, and truly lived a fantasy, halfway around the world surrounded by our mutual friends. It was clear that our meeting was not coincidence, but rather a divine intervention, brought together by cosmic force and that we were destined to find each other. Anyone who spent the week with us could see that we had something special, and despite the distance that we were geographically facing once we returned home, we left Yacht Week together as a couple, vowing to make it work and to not let this magic die.

We spent another three and a half months together, learning about each other and allowing ourselves to be seen and heard, letting love seep in slowly. Nothing about our relationship was typical, and the miles that we traveled to see each other were always well anticipated and appreciated. I will never forget how it felt to hear that he loved me for the first time, during a song that we would forever share as one that was “ours”. It was magical and perfect and a moment that made me feel on top of the world, pure euphoria in the arms of a man who loved me in such a way that my soul needed. For the first time, I was loved in a way that was pure and true and my idea of what love “ought to be and look like” were stripped away. I was loved despite my imperfections and I was always encouraged to “be me” and “be weird”, and to be all the things that I had been so afraid of authentically being.  He was “the one”, I was so sure of it, and it felt as natural as breathing air. I had, “found the one whom my soul loved” and life seemed to be complete.

Unfortunately, despite our truest wishes and hopes, life has other plans that we cannot always understand. What we were so sure of does not come to fruition, and we find ourselves facing choices that we never dreamed of encountering. As our time together progressed and the magic of the relationship began to fade, we found that our differences made way to difficult times and misunderstandings. What I inherently needed and wanted did not always align with what he inherently needed nor could provide. We were two people, desperately in love, yet wanted different things and a life that didn’t necessarily coincide. Watching him leave my city apartment for the last time was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure, and my heart aches for him in a way that I have never known. What I would give to make this work again, to have you here and to “fix” what is broken, to love all the shattered pieces of us and put them back together again. Regardless of my wants and hopes of what I know we could be, life doesn’t always work the way we wish it to and we must accept things for what they are, despite not understanding in the “now”.

I regret not a moment we spent together, and you will always have a place in my heart. You changed my life for the better and I would not be the woman I am now without your lessons and love. You taught me how to grow, to accept another for who they are to their core, and what it means to fight for the things and people that you love so desperately, without caution or restraint. To look at someone as a whole, and love them inside and out, even the parts that are not so easy to understand or easy to love. I will always have a love for you that runs as deep as the ocean we once sailed on together, and as pure and bright as the stars that watched us from above. The Universe had a plan for our time together, and I am so grateful that you exist in this world and that we met in this lifetime. Thank you for being you always, and I am forever thankful that I was a part of your story ❤

Love always,

Your Duck

Hello Friend! It’s been quite some time since I’ve blogged and much has occurred since my last post. Since July I’ve traveled Europe, found myself in a new relationship (I know, it’s a shocker for me too!), and as most people know from my copious social media postings, I am currently training for the Chicago Marathon. Only 28 days until I return to the starting line and tackle the 26.2 miles of Chicago scenery that lay ahead. Trying for marathon #7 has proved to be challenging both physically (I guess the 72 bottles of rosé that our boat consumed at Yacht Week caught up with me after all…), and mentally. Preparing yourself for 26.2 miles is never an easy feat, and this process is truly a time where I am able to reflect on myself and assess where I am at in all apects of my life. After all, I have more than 4 hours of nothing but time to think of anything and everything imaginable! Oh the things you can think about… it’s a scary thought!

With less than 4 weeks to go until the big day, I am entering the “tapering phase” of training. My 20+ mile runs have been accomplished and I slowly, but surely, reduce my milage as time goes on. This is the time many runners start to feel anxious, antsy, and as though they are human garbage disposals, ready to devour anything and everything available to them in sight. A myriad of things run through your head during the weeks leading up to the race, and often runners feel emotionally volatile from reduction of mileage and overall lack of control that this process renders. Some of the many thoughts that may enter a runners mind are as follows: “Was my training adequate?”, “What if my body doesn’t show up ready to perform on race day?”, “What If I get injured and don’t finish?”, “What if I shit myself mid race?!”, etc.  (OK I was kind of kidding on the shitting part… but runners stomach is a real thing for the record…)

As a means to celebrate my off day and to take advantage of AMC $5 movie Tuesdays, I decided to check out a film I’ve been anticipating for a long time. Brittany Runs A Marathon is inspired by a true story of woman named Brittany who goes from a nonexistent fitness level, to completing the NYC Marathon. Jillian Bell from the TV show Workaholics plays the character of Brittany and does a phenomenal job capturing how a marathon not only changes your life physically, but changes how you see yourself and the world around you. I relate to Brittany on so many levels and find that my story of running parallels hers in many ways. Watching Bell’s character development throughout the movie took me back to four years ago when I took my first real post-grad run on Thanksgiving morning of 2015. Similar to Brittany at the beginning of the film, I was overweight from college, finding myself in horrible eating and drinking habits, stressed from my new nursing career, and overall unhappy with how I looked and felt. Although I didn’t have a doctor tell me that I needed to lose weight, the fried bar food and beers from Tuesday night Trivia, as well as the late nights out with friends, had taken a toll on my body. I was sluggish, bloated, and knew that it would only get worse in time if I didn’t take control of my life and my health. The weather was unusually warm for November in St. Louis, so I decided to go outside for a “jog”. Dressed in a cotton T-Shirt (HUGE MISTAKE), nike shorts, and “running shoes” (EVEN BIGGER MISTAKE…), I left my neighborhood and went around the block to see how far I could go. I’m fairly certain I walked as much as I ran that day, but I remember feeling accomplished for getting out there and proactively burning the calories that I would soon surplus from that evening’s impending feast.

It wasn’t long after my first run that I began to slowly pick up the mileage and start to feel the effects of physical activity. Sure, I felt horrible while I was running most of the time, but afterwards I felt great and had more energy overall. I made friends with a girl from work named Lauren who was a “serious runner” and soon our friendship blossomed as we bonded over turning patients and confusing our patient’s families at our uncanny resemblance.  At the time she had completed 14 half marathons in 2014, and had just ran the 2015 Chicago Marathon. In my eyes, she was a “real runner”, and I was hesitant when she suggested that I try running a half marathon for myself. Sure I could handle a 5K no problem, but 13.1 miles…. was she out of her mind?! Although I was consistently running and it was becoming increasingly easier (and the chafing, GI issues, and bruised toenails began to become a regular occurrence in my life), I still didn’t consider myself a “runner”, especially when my friend’s accomplishments were next level incredible and I was only running 4 miles at maximum. After much encouragement and a few runs at a local park attempting to keep up with her, she convinced me to sign up of the 2016 St. Louis Go! Half Marathon in April. As I clicked the registration button, I knew there was no turning back, as she would for sure hold me accountable for training and finishing the race.

As I continued to train for the half, I began to fall in love with running. Four miles turned into six, six turned into ten, and before I knew it I had run my debut half marathon in 2:03:38. In addition to running times that many would consider as “good”, my body was drastically changing. Much of the weight I had gained senior year of college and months into post grad life started to melt off, and I felt better overall. The endorphins were rampant and the milage skyrocketed as I started to realize that the “runners high” that so many people report was in fact 1000% true. During this time I started to run trail races in addition to road races, and much of my weekends became devoted to early bedtimes and crack of dawn race starts. My drinking was pretty much non-existent, as many mornings called for early wake up calls due to the humidity of St. Louis, and my actual mood and anxiety level was directly correlated to whether or not I was able to get a decent run in for the day. When I was unable to run or took a few days off the road, I became irritable, snappy, and an emotional time bomb. And as I continued to train and people noticed the changes in me, my cycle of obsessive running only intensified. By the end of the summer, I had impulsively signed up for an ultra marathon (a race that exceeds 26.2 miles)  and was set to run my first marathon in Portland Oregon the following month (because it makes total sense to run 31 miles before you run 26.2 miles….).

In just a year, running had taken over my life and became my outlet for escaping and coping with changes that were occurring. I felt like a completely different person, and one that I was so proud of, but it didn’t occur without some concerns from family and friends regarding the frequency of my races and risk for injury. At this time, my mindset was focused on completing a sub 2:00:00 half marathon finish time, and I was stopping at nothing to accomplish it. Finally on my fourth half marathon, I was able to cross the finish line in 1:57:57, which is still my PR to this day.

By January 2017, I was 15-20 pounds lighter and had completed an ultra marathon, 2 full marathons, 6 half marathons, and countless other races of lesser mileage both on trial and on road. I finally identified as a “runner” and was traveling regularly across the country, as well as internationally, for races. My pinnacle of running, however, occurred in Fall of 2017 where I was selected via lottery for both the Chicago Marathon, as well as the NYC Marathon the following month. In addition to two marathons just a month apart, I had drunkenly signed up for the 2018 Disney Marathon after a long day of bottomless mimosa brunch…. making my new feat three marathons in three months! How I ever physically accomplished this, I will never know, and I am still flabbergasted that a human body can endure such brutality. I can only attribute this to sheer insanity and incredibly supportive parents who were at every single race cheering me on along the way.  I couldn’t have done this without you, Mom and Dad ❤

As I watched Brittany Runs A Marathon, I became emotional watching her navigate the ups and downs of training, as well as her coming to terms with her “new self”. Much of what she felt, I too had experienced, and her transformation was all too real. The movie uses footage of the 2017 NYC Marathon and follows the actual course map. I started ugly-crying as I watched Brittany run the five boroughs and cross the finish line, reliving both my experiences at the race in 2017 and 2018. Crossing the finish line at the world’s largest marathon is a feeling that is indescribable and overwhelming, and watching her character being supported and cheered on by family and friends takes me back to so many wonderful memories of my own, with my parents always at the finish line. To the spectators of the race and volunteers on course, THANK YOU for your unrelenting support on race day. We couldn’t do this without you and you are appreciated more than you know.

As I reflect back on these past four years and how far I’ve come, I can’t help but to feel grateful for my body and the ability to run. Sure, there are still things that I would like to change about it, and I still splurge here and there on junk food, but my legs have carried me thousands of miles and allow me to continue to run and move without hesitation. My running these days has changed from focus on being faster and better, to being thankful for being healthy and able to be active. I have come leaps and bounds with my marathon training over this past month and I know that it is as much of a mental game as it is a physical game. Weeks ago 10 to 13 miles was draining and I was in a negative feedback loop of doubt and fear. Tonight  tonight I go to bed to prepare for an “easy 15” miler knowing that no matter what, I get to run on October 13th for a cause bigger than myself and just crossing the finish line is enough. I am looking forward to these next few weeks of training and finding the joys of being outside and getting the chance to run as a Chicagoan at one of the six World’s Marathons. I know that my career in running has a long way to go and I look forward to growing old with this sport that continues to keep me humbled. Cheers to finishing the race next month, and the inevitable post race beer I will happily enjoy.

Xoxo Emily

 

“The Most Exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well that’s just fabulous.”- Carrie Bradshaw

Two Days ago in NYC, dressed in a white dress with perfectly matching white Louboutin Iriza pumps, I had my “Carrie Bradshaw” moment. For those who are unfamiliar with the reference and didn’t grow up believing that living in New York City as a single woman is EXACTLY how Sex and the City portrays it, Carrie Bradshaw is the protagonist of said TV program. Much of her storyline is marked with the struggles of dating in the “Big Apple”, trying to find her own way despite frequently entangling herself with the wrong men, enjoying a good cosmopolitan and night out with her closest girlfriends in the city, and having a deep affinity for expensive designer shoes. And while that entire previous statement practically mirrors my own life, there are some significant differences between Carrie and I. Unfortunately, I do not own a brownstone on the Upper East Side nor have a career as a columnist/socialite that can somehow afford a wardrobe based entirely on $500 Manolo Blahnik pumps. Also, for the record… if I ever allowed myself to end up with a man like Mr. Big, someone please take me out of my misery because I will have officially lost my marbles. However, as a single female in her mid-20’s who has recently moved to downtown Chicago, I can find myself relating to Carrie and her cohorts. I’ve found that while the women on the show are vastly different, face different struggles, and embark down different life paths, without a doubt there are bits and pieces of myself in Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte. Although the show originally premiered 20 years ago, much of the lessons and struggles regarding life and love still ring true in 2019. So true, in fact, that I shamelessly own all six seasons of the show and Season 1 is currently playing in the background as I write.

I’ve always been somewhat of a dreamer and a romantic. Often, I find myself envisioning my life and what it will entail, getting lost in the thrill of the “what if’s” and “what’s yet to come. Grandiose vacations around the world, nights spent staying up laughing with my girlfriends drinking wine, adventures with like-minded people who challenge me personally and spiritually, a wild and passionate love affair with an undeniably handsome man (If you’re reading this…. sorry mom and dad), exc. are the types of scenes that I picture when I look forward to the next 10+ years.  I have an idea of what my heart desires, what it should feel like, and the idea lives in my head; A life that I love that loves me back. It is larger than life, a highlight reel of excitement, opulence, and splendor, filled with so much promise. And while I realize that life is guaranteed to not be “perfect” nor what I will always expect, I know that as long as I am happy and follow my heart, I will always live a life well lived. The issue however, is that when some thing good happens to me or comes along, I immediately second guess myself and whether or not I actually deserve it. My anxiety ridden, Catholic guilted self immediately hits the panic button and bunkers down for inevitable disappointment. I find myself asking, “Well all is going splendid for now… but when will the rug get pulled out from out of me this time?!”. I begin to enter the negative feedback loop and start believing that whatever I had manifested into my life was only placed there to be taken away, to punish me for whatever I had unknowingly done wrong in some lifetime or another. That somehow the Universe is actually working against me, not in my favor, and that everything I dream of will never happen because I don’t deserve it. I should spare my happiness because if history repeats itself, it will be fleeting and I should protect myself from the inevitable disaster to come.

Just rereading that previous paragraph out loud was painful and further validates that I have so much to still work on. My paranoia is clearly getting the best of me and my own self sabotaging narrative will be my downfall, not some karmic plot set in motion by a higher power to rectify my “sins”. My higher self knows that this type of thinking is toxic and simply based on fear and feelings of inadequacy, yet here I am thinking these awful things. In fact, if one of my closest girlfriends ever dare to say those types of things in front of me, I would shake her silly and scream, “REPEAT AFTER ME: YOU DESERVE THE BEST BECAUSE YOU ARE WORTHY OF LOVE AND RESPECT AND EVERYTHING YOU DREAM OF. WHAT YOU MANIFEST WILL COME TRUE IF YOU BELIEVE IN IT ENOUGH!” I would shake her long and hard and only stop when she would either pass out or actually believe that she was worthy enough of a life that she deserves. However, based on my experience, my friend would most likely pass out first because often times we are conditioned to believe that wanting “too much” is a bad thing and that  dreaming too big will only result in failure and disappointment. That in life you cannot have it all and that even believing that you can is a fallacy and borderline selfish. We are taught that we should be happy with “what we get” and that settling is not wrong, just a natural progression of life. That there is happiness in living a life less fulfilled, just as long as all the bases are covered and you can go through the motions without too much of a fuss. For some people, the idea of that doesn’t scare them and that’s absolutely OK! There is no right or wrong way to live and view life, in fact, it’s healthy to have differing viewpoints and perspectives. However, when I think about my life and what I want it to feel like and look like, I have a few opinions. What scares me even more than the idea of waking up one morning with a life that I had manifested suddenly turned upside-down and everything that I’ve ever wanted taken away from me, is the idea of waking up one morning and realizing that I settled with an unfulfilling life because I believed that I didn’t deserve anything more than that. I simply cannot accept this destiny and I am learning to love myself enough to recognize that I am worthy of all that I dream of.

Even more so than me badgering myself with this Truth, I had the most poetic and perfect reminder of this in an unexpected, yet magical place. On Monday April 15, at noon in NYC, I walked into Tiffany & Co. on Fifth Ave. Dressed in my nicest shoes and a “Tiffany Blue” trench coat, I entered the store filled with jewelry many women dream of wearing one day. The midday rain and soaked streets of New York wore down the red soles of my Louboutins (rookie mistake ladies… don’t ever wear them in the rain!), and I quietly headed upstairs to the fourth floor for an iconic breakfast at The Blue Box Cafe. I looked the part, almost to a fault, in my perfectly matched outfit, an homage to the brand. However, despite my outfit that depicted a quintessential “Tiffany Girl” and the endless praise I was receiving from staff and customers alike for my fashion choices, I couldn’t shake the underlying uneasiness that accompanied eating alone in such a spectacular place. I felt like a well dressed fraud, who despite the sales associate’s initial impression, could not afford the $3,000 luggage they were trying to sell, nor the pleasure of another’s company to enjoy this experience with.

While my experience was nothing short of phenomenal at The Blue Box Cafe and the staff at Tiffany and Co. made me feel like a million dollars by dressing me up and accessorizing me in their finest leather goods (seriously you made my dream come true and I will never forget this feeling. You know how to make a girl feel so incredibly special), I still had a sense of unfinished business to attend to. Before departing from my trip on Cloud 9, there was one person I had yet to visit. As I stepped off the elevator and onto the second floor, I immediately saw her, my old friend Sandra. I met Sandra a year an a half ago during my trip to New York while in town for the 2017 NYC Marathon. I was  with my mother in Tiffany and Co. looking at rings, laughing about my lack of a love life and attempting to convince her that by the grace of God I will find someone who doesn’t want to vomit at the thought of sharing their life with mine/purchasing a ring that’s the price of a new of a Ford Fiesta. Sandra must have heard my mother and I’s banter (it’s hard to miss considering her and I are a very entertaining and expressive duo), and came over to address and advise the long-winded, yet jovial discussion. After convincing my mother that it was quite alright that I tried some rings on, Sandra graciously pulled out my ring so that I could show her what I’ve always wanted, so that she knew if/when the day ever comes where to send the lucky, (or unlucky, depending on your viewpoint) fella. From that day forward, my information has stayed with Sandra in her little black book on Park Ave., waiting for diving timing to intercede.

Most people don’t consider a “friend” to be a ring specialist who happens to work at the Flagship store of a designer brand, selling rings that cost as much as cars/homes, but Sandra is someone who is special to me. She is an honest and blunt, motherly like woman, who speaks to me the same way she speaks to her own two daughters. From the moment I met her and tried on my dream ring in 2017, I knew that Sandra would have a significant impact on my life in one way or another. Even a year an a half later, without any contact since, she remembered me, down to the ring size and style. I don’t know what possessed me to ask or why I had the strong notion to, but I wanted to make sure that this was still the right one for me. So I asked to try it on, just to be safe, of course. I’d be lying if I didn’t get a tiny bit emotional when I looked in the small mirror at my reflection in that moment. Without a shadow of a doubt that ring was meant for me to wear, regardless of who gives it to me; even if I end up giving it to myself. Sandra looked at me, with small tears in my eyes, and gave me some much-needed, motherly advice. She reminded me to stop feeling guilty for knowing what I want and to not be afraid to ask for it honestly. That I should be unwavering about what I deserve and to never settle for anything or anyone who doesn’t listen or isn’t willing to assist me in creating the life I dream of. To not compromise on “big” things in life in order to suit other people and make myself smaller for convenience. That moment became so much bigger than the 1.5  carat ring on my unengaged left finger, it was a testament to my life and the accordance to which I should hold myself.

Monday at noon, I entered Tiffany and Co. melancholy from the rain and from the unforseen shoe ruining fiasco.  A few hours later, I left their revolving doors feeling confident, empowered, and a new woman. I stood a little taller, had a sparkle in my eye, and a strut in my step. I took a deep breath and made a vow to myself and to Sandra that day that I would never again settle and I would always honor myself, even if that means buying my own damn ring one day.  As I hailed a cab on Fifth Ave. and looked back at building that now held so many amazing moments of growth, I knew that I was given such an incredible gift. I had my “Carrie Bradshaw ” moment in the most quintessential, fabulous way, and not a thing in the world could ever take that away from me ❤ 

 

Xoxo,

Emily

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things that I can, And wisdom to know the difference” – Serenity Prayer 

 

Hello Friends! It’s been a while since I’ve taken the time to sit down, breathe, and write from the heart. I can truly say that I’ve missed this creative process and the internal therapy sessions that subsequently follow it. I’ve found that much of my content comes from times of intense growth, and often harsh lessons that accompany this. Despite the struggles during these past few months, being able to share my stories with the world has helped me process and make peace with things that I otherwise would have held on to and internalized for far too long. I recognize that I am someone who has a habit of holding on to things and people who don’t necessarily serve my highest good. I hold on for various reasons, and often find myself wanting to “fix” what I believe is “wrong” with such situations. And while I inherently mean well and believe that everyone is deserving of unconditional love, often times this is a self destructive pattern that not only harms me, but the people I am seeking to “fix” as well. Through spending much time with myself and having long internal talks trying to figure out where this “savior complex” stems from, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve known, deep down, all along. Instead of spending my energies “fixing” and holding on, hoping for change and holding out for what I hope to come to fruition, I need to let go. I cannot change people, nor is it my job on this Earth to do so. I am, in fact, not Swedish House Mafia and it is not my job to “Save The World”.

I’m a firm believer that nothing is coincidence. People enter your life for reasons, difficult things happen to teach lessons, and that Truth is always revealed in perfect timing (even if it’s not what we want to hear or expect to hear). I also believe that we continue to experience things until we learn our bigger lesson, and only then a new lesson begins once we resolve what we need to know. We experience life through mistakes and adversity, but growth fosters when we take our experience and knowledge forward with us, hopefully shaping us into better people in the process. And let me state for the record…. this year has been FULL of learning lessons, both good and bad. I can honestly say this year has shaped my life indefinitely and molded me into the woman I am destined to become. And while I am FAR from flawless (I am leaving that mood up to Queen Beyonce), I have learned to embrace and recognize all the things that make me who I am, even the not so great parts. For example, I am known to love “difficult people”, almost to a fault. And while it is wonderful that I seek to see the goodness in everyone, I have to remind myself that not everyone is receptive of me nor wants my friendship and love. AND THATS COMPLETELY OK! It is not something I should take personally. Everyone is just doing their best, and how they love you in return is a reflection of where they are at in their own journey.

At this moment in time, I am learning how to create healthy boundaries with others and realizing that sometime you need to “clean house” regarding friendships to allow for others to enter your life that are reciprocal. And while it is always bittersweet closing a chapter with someone or something, it doesn’t make their presence in your story any less significant. In fact, we should honor these people and the roles that they have played in the story of ourselves. However, holding onto people or situations that restrict your growth or who cause emotional turmoil is not healthy, and you deserve better than that my dear. Sometimes we have to simply let go and make peace with the fact that people who we thought would always be in our lives sometimes won’t be. And that sometimes the people we think we know end up being different people entirely. This is not a reflection on you sis, so stop thinking that it is. All we can do is continue on our path and trust that better is coming as long as we are receptive to it.

There is liberation in letting go and choosing yourself and your own well being above all else. Be brave enough to love yourself so fiercely that anyone who deviates from your standard of friendship and love can quietly exist your life without disturbing your peace.  What you tolerate becomes what you attract in life, so do not settle for anything less than what you deserve. Sometimes there truly is a “good” in goodbye and it is ok to embrace that. In fact, there is beauty in this.

And for god sake girl stop lighting yourself on fire to keep others warm…. keep your light and set your life ablaze ❤

 

XoXo

Emily

Every so often there’s a song that you stumble upon that speaks directly to your heart. Maybe it’s lyrics that you need to hear in an exact moment in time, or a certain melody that strikes a chord, but along comes a song that you swear was put on Earth just for you. It’s almost as if the music itself was created by the Divine, sent down from a Higher Place, and delivered specifically to you in perfect timing. The artists who created the song seems to just, “know us”; as if they can read our deepest inner thoughts and feel exactly what we are feeling, capturing moments and emotions so perfectly. The feeling is indescribable when we feel a true connection to a song or artist who is speaking directly to us, delivering us a message that we need to hear, often unexpectedly. I am lucky enough to have had many moments like this, experiencing the gift of song so effortlessly and perfectly. In these moments I feel so overwhelmed, yet thankful for the power of music and the ability it has to heal the world. For me, music has been a source of inspiration, therapy, friendship, and clarity in the darkest of times. It has become one of the biggest blessing in my life, and it is as much a part of who I am as my eyes that allow me to see and my lungs that allow me to breathe. Although life has thrown me many curveballs and has shaken me up from time to time, one thing that remains constant is my love for music and those who create it.

Yesterday, during one of my many trips home as of late, I stumbled upon a song that inspired me to write this blog. Actually, better yet, a song found me knowing that I needed to hear a message and share my story in hopes to heal myself and others in the process. The song, to no ones surprise or even my own, is from my best gal pal, Ariana Grande, herself. Although I’ve been delving into her latest albums, and I have to admit that I’m already obsessed and see myself in so much of her writing as it is, there was one song in particular, for some odd reason or another, I hadn’t seemed to listen to quite yet. As I began to get ready and turned on Spotify, my usual routine prior to a night out, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a song called “get well soon”. I put down my contour kit and just listened in silence, blown away by her ability to deliver exactly what I needed to hear.

“This is for everybody
Babe, you gotta take care of your body,
Ain’t no time to deny it, that is why we talking about it
Yeah, we talking about it
So deal with it, don’t try to get by it
Ain’t no time to deny it
So we had to sit down and just write it

Want you to get better (woo!)
My life is so controlled by the what if’s
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
Is there anybody else whose mind does this, mmm?
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
Down, down, down, down
Is there such a ladder to get above this?
(Down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down)
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
Maybe I should ground myself where the mud is
Before I’m gone”

It was as if the “Queen” herself was sitting across from me having a heart to heart talk during a girl’s night (I am literally envisioning myself and Ariana Grande drinking champagne in really nice fur coats and laughing and having deep conversations because we are best friends “kind of a thing”, ya know?! THIS IS WHAT BEST FRIENDS DO PEOPLE!)  After hearing her song and processing her lyrics, I took a really hard look in the mirror at myself and realized that in fact, I wasn’t well and haven’t been for a while now. The girl staring back at me looked sick, exhausted, and almost unrecognizable. The weight of what I had been feeling for so long had taken a toll on me physically and my glow and sparkle, that once was so apparent and palpable, had been dimmed out. I wasn’t me, and I knew that other people had noticed, but were too polite to say anything or get involved. After seeing how I looked after months of stress and anxiety, I knew it was time I started getting to the bottom of my issues and stopped avoiding the healing process, just hoping that in time things would magically get better. It was a hard moment, but I’m convinced that if Ariana Grande was inspired to write this song, there are many of us out here feeling and experiencing the same thing.

I would be lying to you all if I said that these past seven months of my life have been easy. Many life changes and large-scale events have occurred that have challenged and changed me in many ways, leaving me in a world of, “what if’s?” and, “what the hell have I done?”.  In fact, It would be accurate to say that these past six months of challenges and changes have been the hardest I’ve had to endure up to this point. I have cried and panicked more times than I can count and many nights I have stayed up with my mind racing, playing out every possible bad scenario and outcome to any given situation. Some days I was convinced that I was crazy and unsure if I could ever rise above feeling as if I was going to spiral out of control and lose my mind. It was almost as If I was living with a subconscious feeling of impending doom, and my body was running at full speed as a result. And when I wasn’t a ball of nerves, I felt unmotivated to do much of what I had previously loved to do. Working out and running outside no longer appealed to me and wasn’t feasible as winter in Chicago raged on and wind chills reached -20 at times (our lowest was -50 one day to put things into perspective). With my usual outlets for endorphins and self-reflection no longer an option, I felt as though I was drowning and alone. Hell, the sky was grey 90% of the time and in the rare case when it was sunny, standing outside in temperatures well below freezing sure didn’t appeal to me whatsoever! To say I was stuck in an emotional rut, would be a euphemism. I was struggling and almost every aspect of my life was being affected by this as a result. The negative feedback loop was in full swing and before I knew it, seven months had passed and I was still stuck in the same head space that was causing so much distress.

Although I have no formal diagnosis from a licensed medical or clinical professional (which I highly recommend going to as they are the ones who can provide services and diagnose), with great certainty I have come to the conclusion that I more than likely have anxiety and even components of depression/seasonal affective disorder. Winter has never been my season and mental health is something that I’ve struggled with in the past, but always just assumed that it was part of “who I was”. Throughout my life I’ve been told that I am “sensitive” or “emotional” or even have “neurotic tendencies” at times. I just assumed that yes, I am, “Emily, the girl who is super in touch with her emotions and apparently everyone else’s around her as well!”. I cry easily and for many reasons; when I’m frustrated, when I’m sad, when I’m happy, when someone is being nice to me, when I see others cry and I feel their pain, etc.  And while there is such blessing in being able to feel so much and be so connected to how I feel and how other’s feel,  there also comes a point where it can become self-destructive. After looking in the mirror yesterday and seeing how broken down I have become from how I’ve been feeling and how I’ve been talking to myself, I know that something has got to give. I need to start healing and getting on the road to wellness or else I will completely burn out and break down. I feel exhausted the majority of the time and as a result, I have struggled at work and within interpersonal relationships. I know that this isn’t healthy or honoring my highest good, and although I’ve been struggling for quite some time, it is never too late to get back on track.

Luckily, society has shifted to a more accepting stance towards mental health and the stigma towards people who are struggling has changed. No longer is it shameful to talk about your feelings and even seek help if necessary. It’s not uncommon to see a therapist anymore and in fact, I bet there are more people who receive professional services than we even realize. And although we’ve come so far (CAN I GET AN AMEN?!), we still have so much further to go. Despite the mental health reform that so desperately needs to occur and the attempts to cut funding from politics (don’t even get me started on that soap box, I will go on for hours), having a society that allows other’s to use their voice, speak out, and platform for change is making a difference. If celebrities and performers such as Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, Chrissy Teigen, and Adele, just to name a few, have used their voices to speak out and share their stories in hopes to pave the way for others, you bet that there is space for us to speak out and share ours as well. Even in a world where we are taught to believe that other people, “have it all” and seem to have perfect lives, it would be that this isn’t quite so. We are human, and part of the human condition to struggle at times, even if it is within ourselves. However, when this becomes too much and takes on an overwhleming role, we are never “too human” to receive the help we need.

In many ways, this blog is the “Get Well Soon” card that I’m writing and sending to myself.  Just as we send these messages to our friends and families who are healing, why shouldn’t we start sending them to ourselves too? After all, healing the mind and soul is paramount to all. While I know that healing is a process and one that I will need to work towards every day, I know that If I don’t take steps to change and be willing to accept help when needed and offered, that this will only hinder my growth. And I know full well that I am not above receiving help, especially from those who want to see me succeed and be in a healthy place! To those of you who are reading, who find a little bit of themselves in my blog, please know that you are not alone. If anything, you have a friend and ally you can turn to.

Tonight marks the first night of commitment to healing. Positive words of affirmation, meditation, and a lavender Woodwick candle await for me when I get home. It doesn’t sound like much, but simple things make all the difference in my world. I’m opening my heart to this process with the intention of getting well again. After all, if I can’t give to myself and be kind to myself, how can I do onto others? Sure there will be ups and downs in this journey, but the greatest relationship I have in life is with myself. And if Ariana Grande can do it and come out on the other side despite all she’s endured, I know I can too ❤

With love and healing,

Emily

 

Dating in 2019…. well, what can I say? I hope you’re sitting down because this is going to be a long one!

An endless motion of swiping left, swiping right, making snap judgements on people based off of five profile pictures and a catchy bio. Setting ranges on potential matches including age, geographical distance, social preferences, height, body type, education level, or religion. Making sure your profile is “most swipe-worthy” and competitive against the thousands of other eligible bachelors and bachelorettes in your remote location. The endless question of, “How can I sell myself best to potential suitors? How can I seem cool and interesting enough to some one out there on their phone, deep in dating app land?”

Selfies? No selfies? Trying to look attractive but not TOO attractive as to scare people away. Are my pictures “good” enough? Do they reflect my fun-loving, free spirit personality? Why hasn’t anyone responded back to me? Did they lose interest, or was I just not interesting enough? I wonder if everyone else in this city is having terrible luck or if it’s just me and MY SHITTY PROFILE!

And let’s not forget our own judgements now; after all, the game goes both ways my kittens! The, “Ew, no swipe left!”,  “OMG.. the guy is holding a baby…. do you think that’s his kid or is he just a “cool uncle?”,  “His job, uhmmm not so sure about that…”, “I mean, he’s only 5’9, like I can’t even wear my good heels, nope that a left swipe!”  “Yikes, the guy is hot, but lives in the burbs?! Hmmmm… yeah not so sure that’ll work!”

Just about every kind of dating app imaginable exists out there, and you can just about find anything or any “type” that peaks your interest. Most single people I know, and even those who aren’t technically “single”, have at least one major dating app downloaded on their phone. We have Tinder, Bumble, The League, Hinge, Grinder, JSwipe, Coffee Meets Bagel, Match, OkCupid… the list goes on and on ad nauseam. And if there’s a market that’s currently untapped, you can bet that soon enough, there will be an app for that too. Tech gurus are capitalizing on single people’s loneliness, knowing that at the end of the day when we’re alone in our beds or drunk Saturday night, we will hit up an app looking for temporary gratification.  In fact, as I write this post, I have received two separate notifications from two separate apps… and yes I admit it, I have a few of the apps aforementioned.

For those of us still single in current society, all too often, hearing a story of our peers meeting authentically, without technology involved, has become a thing of the past. Long ago was the romantic story of how you could meet someone at the grocery store or library, or any other normal establishment and actually interact and fall in love. It’s a radical concept, I know, how did anyone ever meet anyone prior to apps?! And as much as I hate to admit it, technology dominates our lives in the twenty-first century; meaning that our means of dating have converted as a result. It would really be great finding my Prince Charming at Trader Joe’s, except for the fact that his AirPods are in and he is clearly isn’t noticing the damsel in distress before him, struggling on what kind of Almond Milk to purchase. It almost seems as though becoming a “Tinderella” would yield better results, so, alas, back to the apps I go! Swiping endlessly, and entering the black hole that is app based dating.

In my personal experience regarding dating in general, I have to admit, I do not thrive. I love going on dates and the thrill of meeting new people, but I am by no means out here in the big city killin’ it like a character from Sex And the City, (Although I do have a propensity for good shoes like Carrie Bradshaw). And I’m not saying this to be self-deprecating, I’m saying it because its 1000% true. Sure I’ve talked to a few guys here and there, have been on a couple dates in the past, but nothing of substance, or even a second date, has come to fruition. The only committed relationships I’ve engaged in were prior to my adult, post-graduate life, and even that seems like a lifetime and many bottles of champagne ago. Everything else in these past three years has been a slew of hot and cold, with an eventual fizzle out and lots of hurt feelings, or better yet the dreaded case of “ghosting” (can we all just agree that this is such a cop-out and that we need to start being honest with each other and not take the easy way out?! Alas, I digress…). A relationship expert I am not, but I do keep it very real when it comes to my experiences, both the good and bad.

I believe that everyone out there, regardless of whether or not you admit it or want to believe it, wants to eventually find their “person” in life. After all, isn’t there an age-old saying that, “There’s someone out there for everyone.”?  And in a society where we are constantly blasted with pictures on social media of “perfect couples” and the next best dating app around the corner, no wonder why we feel inadequate and pressure to find the right person, or even the right person for just the night (and to rip off the Taboo band-aid for everyone: yes some people use dating apps solely for sex. Welcome to 2019 where you can get anything you want with just a swipe of a finger, even if it’s just casual sex!). If we aren’t dating someone or have a serious relationship, we are constantly reminded of our singleness, and are often left wondering why we are inherently undesirable or if we will ever find someone…..

But that’s where the apps come in right?! They’re here for us with thousands of potential suitors just waiting to meet us! Happiness is just a swipe away, as long as you play your cards right and make an appealing enough profile. Before you know it you have matches,  and maybe even prospects to meet up and go on a date. Yes a date in public where you get dressed up nice and go for dinner/a drink and have good conversation with a person you find attractive (or at least their profile was attractive on the app!). You feel excited, on top of the world even, you ARE desirable and attractive and people DO like you! But what happens when you get ghosted afterwards, or the person who initiates the date doesn’t follow through, or doesn’t have good intentions for asking you out in the first place? The negative feedback loop begins, and before we know it our insecurities come creeping out of the woodwork: Not pretty enough, not skinny enough, too much of  this, not enough of that, “If I was more like her, then I wouldn’t have any of “my problems” and life would be easier”, etc. and every awful thing we were taught to feel about ourselves comes to play.

It’s a toxic and addictive mindset, and I refuse to feed into it anymore. Emotionally and mentally, I can’t engage in the cycle. The high involved, doesn’t mitigate the low, and it’s not serving my highest good playing games with myself and other people. I want to make it clear: by no means am I bashing dating apps and the potential they have for helping people find connections. More power to those who have found success or enjoy being on the apps; I support you wholeheartedly and I believe that everyone should do what’s in their best interest. However, for me and where I am in my life right now, I just cannot do them. I need to invest the time and energy that I’ve been using on apps on myself and making myself happy. By taking a step back and looking at my interactions with the apps, I’ve noticed a direct correlation between me feeling down about myself and my usage on the apps itself. Is it really that I want a relationship, or that I just the idea of someone filling a void and reassuring me that I am “good enough” to deserve love?  It’s instant gratification that is as fleeting as a cheap high on a Saturday night, and it’s about time I checked into self-love rehab. If there is any relationship that needs to be nurtured in my life, it’s my relationship with myself, which is so clearly lacking as evidence by this desire to be desired.

As of today, I’ve officially decided that I am in a full-blown, committed relationship with myself. I am my own “soul mate”, “boyfriend”, and “person” for this time being. I am responsible for gratifying myself and MY OWN  happiness is completely contingent upon ME. I am conducting myself with the utmost respect, telling myself kind words, and remembering all the positive aspects of myself. I am dating myself how I want to be dated and treating myself how I deserve to be treated, so that if or when the right person comes along, I will have a set of standards that I do not deviate from. After all, would I ever put up with a man who’s disrespectful, verbally abusive, or makes me feel lesser of a person, …. absolutely not HUNTY! And you shouldn’t either! So why would you ever allow the negative thoughts in your head dictate the way you think about yourself?!

When I get down and out, and that happens to the best of us from time to time,  I have to remind myself how many billions of people exist on this planet. Surely the right one will come across my path one day, when I least expect it, when the timing is right, and all of this will makes sense. I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty sure statistically the odds are in my favor. And for those reading this who can relate and are feeling similarly, the odds are in your favor too. I have a feeling more people than not have felt this way at one time or another and that no one is immune to loneliness, even in the big city.

For now, my boyfriend and I are enjoying a glass of champagne on the couch on this cozy Sunday. The night will most likely consist of binge watching Game of Thrones, snuggling under warm blankets, and dinner catered by Postmates. We are listening to the new Ariana Grande albumb while writing, and the dress code tonight is strictly athleisure only. We will tell each other we love each other at least twice and probably even have a dance party at some point in time. “pete davidson” has come on random shuffle, which is a sign in itself that this is mean to be (for real though, the song had to have been sent from the Universe itself. It’s just too perfect not to have been).  And if/when the right person comes along, and he doesn’t appreciate Ariana Grande for the Queen she truly is, it’ll be a “thank u next” from me ❤

 

“Hi, I’m Emily, and I am a Disney-a-holic”

There… I said it. No shame.

For those who know me, they know that, indeed, I do love Disney. In the past two years I’ve been to Walt Disney World four times and Disneyland once. I have run two marathons, owned an Annual Pass, have taken hundreds of pictures, visited many friends and cast members, eaten a few too many foods shaped like Mickey Mouse, and have shamelessly gone to Character breakfast at least five times. To some, I’m full-blown obsessed, but to more avid Disney lovers, my level of fondness is mild at best. Working at a children’s hospital, I receive my daily dose of Disney every single shift. Anna, Elsa, Moana, and Belle have become official members of my Girl Gang as of late, and you bet I hang with them every chance I get. I’ve seen Frozen, Moana, Coco, Beauty and the Beast, Cars, and Finding Nemo at least five times this week alone, and I can’t pass more than a few rooms without hearing a Disney song playing. And in the rare occurence when I don’t get my usual Disney fix,  you bet I will somehow find a way to incorporate it into my nursing routine. I never miss an opportunity to perform “Let It Go”, and you better believe I make that room freeze. In those moments I am Elsa and I’m honestly surprised that Disney hasn’t reached out to me to perform for them (Side-note: I’m so glad that none of my coworkers have caught me mid performance. I’m sure they’ll wonder who made the executive decision to hire me.).

Many would assume that my love for Disney stemmed from a childhood filled with trips to the “Happiest Place on Earth” and that I’ve always been a die-hard Disney Princess at heart. After all, I did grow up singing along to those classic 1990’s movies that everyone knows and loves. And while that true I always “liked” Disney, I never really understood the obsession with it, especially people sans children. Why would anyone freely and willingly choose to fly to Orlando to vacation at Walt Disney World, in often oppressive heat, spend ungodly amounts of money, and be in a crammed theme park with small restless, screaming children for “fun”? I have close friend’s whose family vacations consisted of extended Disney trips with 20+ people all in matching shirts, looking like they were having the time of their lives in 92 degree heat with 100% humidity! (literally, no one was visibly sweating in their pictures and I’m still surprised how they pulled that off). I couldn’t wrap my head around what magical spell Mickey Mouse seemed to place on everyone who entered his world, and why year after year, more and more people I knew were flocking down to sunny Florida, posing ever so cutely in ears in front of Cinderella’s Castle. It wasn’t until I went to Walt Disney World as an adult that I understood the allure of this place and how powerful it could be.

It all started around three years ago when I decided that I was going to become a runner. I had vowed to myself that a marathon was too much and that there was absolutely no way I would, or could, accomplish something like that. Sure, I had gone from someone who could barely run a couple of laps to a runner who was placing 4th in a few local races, but a MARATHON… no way Jose. 26.2 miles of consistent movement and chafing seemed like a daunting task at the time, with little reward for maximal efforts. I was starting to plateau in my training and I needed to find something that would motivate me enough to train, yet keep me incentivized to actually follow through with the process. It wasn’t until I had stumbled upon the Disney Race series and the Disney Marathon Weekend that I had unintentionally found what I was looking for. I thought that having a “run-cation” to Disney would not only be fun, but a well-earned reward to myself for putting in the hard work. I could mix business with pleasure and escaping the January cold for a week was an added bonus!  After long deliberation, I decided to sign up for the full marathon the day spots were released to the public due to it costing the exact same as the half marathon because WHY PAY $180 TO RUN 13.1 MILES WHEN YOU CAN PAY THE SAME AND RUN 26.2?! IT’S ECONOMICS! With a click of the mouse, I had fully committed myself to trudging 26.2 miles with the main mouse himself, and there was no turning back. Little did I know that this trip would change so much for me and open up a door to a world I would soon know and love.

Although I had fallen deeper in love with running, almost to the point of obsession, in the next nine months leading up to my marathon, the final stretch prior to the race was full of lots of hardships. In the month and a half leading up to the trip, I had broken up with my significant other who was supposed to be attending the race with me, and was feeling sad that I would have to attend my “Magical Vacation” Han Solo. In addition, work had been unprecedentedly grim, often as the holiday season can be, and I was feeling quite down due to poor patient outcomes. I entered 2017 in a bit of a funk, yet hopeful that a dose of Vitamin D from the Florida sun and a nice long jog through Disney could somehow shake my seasonal blues. To my surprise, and in a pinch, my mother decided to tag along on my trip, bound and determined that no daughter of her’s would run a race alone and with no one to cheer her on. The trade-off for her company was that in return, we would ride The Haunted Mansion just as she did when she visited in 1978. My mother had given me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and before I knew it I was boarding a plane to Orlando with the biggest smile on my face, ready to tackle on the 26.2 miles and spend time with my best friend. I was sure that the race weekend would be one for the books… and boy was I in for a real treat…

For those who don’t know, Disney Marathon Weekend 2017 was the worst weather on record. Not only did the Half Marathon on Saturday get cancelled due to lightning and rain, but that night, an unexpected cold front came through, leaving us with sub 30 degree weather for marathon morning. Mom and I ran to the local Orlando Wal-Mart just hours before the race hoping to find “warm weather” clothing that is so abundantly sold in southern Florida. No no ones surprise, everyone and their sister had already perused the shelves and taken anything and everything remotely warm and in my size. I ended up running the first five miles of the race in a pair of oversized sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks doubled as my gloves. Luckily my Princess Leia headband acted as makeshift ear muffs and I continued to blast Disney sing along hits to distract me from the frigid temperatures.  As the miles tacked on and the sun was starting to rise, I began to warm up and ditched my “groutfit” on Main Street of Magic Kingdom. I was headed straight for Cinderella’s Castle and knew that soon enough I would be running through it, experiencing the thrill of the crowd and start of my runner’s high. As I stopped to take a picture to commemorate my Mile 7 accomplishment, I had one of the most magical moments of my life. I look up, hear my name being called, and lo and behold, my mother was right there waiting for me with the biggest smile. How in the world this tiny 5’2 woman managed to snake her way through thousands of people and find a spot directly in front of the castle, as it was lit up, AND the sun was rising so perfectly is still something that blows my mind to this day?! I was overwhelmed with happiness sharing that moment with my mom and still look back on it and feel so emotional knowing she was there for me despite the cold and early morning wake up call. I was immersed in a place that allowed me to create magical memories with my mom, where anything was truly possible.

From that moment forward, and every time since, Disney has never failed to sprinkle its magic pixie dust on me every time I stop by for a visit. From the smallest gestures such as greeting me with a, “Good Morning Princess” while checking my bags before entering the park, to the nighttime Magic Kingdom fireworks display, I always find something to smile about. Every cast member you encounter makes sure you feel acknowledged and important, and surprises are hidden around every corner if you look close enough. In this world, age is irrelevant and the only requirement for enjoyment is having an open mind and heart. I can honesty say that from observation and through my own personal experience, the adults in Disney are having just as much, if not more, fun than the children who accompany them. Playing, regardless of your age, is therapeutic, and what better place to do this at than “The Happiest Place on Earth”, where you are safe and free to release your inner child without criticism from the outside world?

For me, going to Disney allows me to reset and give myself the ability to refill with joy. Much of my work requires me to give all of myself to my patients and their families for 12 hours at a time. In these 12 hours, I treat each and every patient and family member I encounter as though they are the most important person in the world because their world is often turned completely upside down while being in the hospital. Simple gestures such as offering to make a tired mother a cup of coffee, or giving someone my full and undivided attention while they tell me more about their loved one are ways I show my families that I am 1000% dedicated to them and that they can feel safe with me. Although I love what I do and would not change it for anything, working in an ICU is demanding physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. While I try to find light and hope in each shift, there unfortunately are days where patient outcomes won’t be ideal, regardless of the positivity I strive to reverberate. When I enter the World of Disney, I know that I am able to sit back and enjoy being a guest, treated with love the same way I treat my families. I am safe in this world, sans adult responsibility, able to be silly and filled with childlike wonder. I can dance, sing,  laugh, and honor my truest self (Also calories are negative here and no one judges for eating dessert with every single meal!). Every time I visit I always seem to find something new to love and appreciate, even if it’s just seeing other’s light up with joy, experiencing it for themselves. Over the years I’ve witnessed beautiful moments such as children seeing the castle for the first time, multi-generational families spending time together, and even a few engagements. I’ve had the opportunity and honor to send several families here through the Make A Wish Foundation, knowing that this week will truly be a once in a lifetime for them, hoping they create memories just as happy as I have. In these moments, I am truly thankful that Walt Disney created this world of possibility and that I have the opportunity to share in it’s magic and experience it with others.

For me, Disney is much more than my “happy place”; it’s a lifestyle that I choose to emulate both personally and professionally. By regularly releasing my inner child and allowing myself to refuel with joy, I am then able to take this happiness and give it to others freely, creating a positive feedback loop. Through the power of imagination and play, I am able to connect to my kiddos and their families, bringing a sense of fun and familiarity to an otherwise scary and traumatizing experience. And quite frankly, if being happy and believing in fairy dust and magic is wrong, I never want to be right! I understand that some people will never completely understand me or my affinity for Disney. But guess what, that’s completely fine with me and I’m not asking or expecting them to. Heck, I didn’t understand it a couple of years ago either, but look at me now! Three years and a couple of pairs of mouse ears later, I’m happily planning my sixth “Adulting” trip to Disney in the fall, with no intention of stopping anytime soon.

Regardless of your feelings towards “The Happiest Place on Earth” or you likelihood to take a trip down south to visit my main squeeze Mickey Mouse, I encourage everyone to listen to and honor their inner child every so often. Even if it’s as simple as turning on an old school throwback song or allowing yourself to be silly for a few seconds of the day, you’ll be amazed how good the soul feels after having a little bit of fun. For those reading this who are inspired to check out Disney for yourself, always know you have a gal willing to accompany you or assist you on your journey with tips and recommendations. I promise you won’t regret it, and you may even find this to be a “happy place” as well. As for me, I’m quite content in my Disney sweatshirt and Cinderella socks, knowing that tomorrow I have the opportunity to spread a little bit of magic to the kids I am assigned to. After all, someone needs to care for them; it might as well be one of the biggest kids of all ❤

With faith, trust, and little bit of Pixie Dust,

Emily

 

“I’ve never felt more stupid before. I honesty don’t know what the hell I’m even doing. Maybe I’m not cut out for pediatrics after all. I should go back to what I know and I’m good at.” – Emily Simmons  1/15/19 23:50

During a new job’s orientation, there’s always an assumption that at some point you inevitably breakdown. Between the learning curves, endless educational classes, sporadic shifts, navigating around a new hospital’s layout, and the sea of new faces and learning who is who, it’s no wonder why many nurses find themselves crying in a stairwell mid shift. Some nurses break initially on the first day, while others find that  their breakdown comes months later, while they are on their own, no longer protected under the watch of their preceptors. Some nurses have multiple smaller breakdowns, while others have one large, “Category 5” breakdown (envision a hurricane full of emotion, exhaustion, and self-deprecation, matched with a Kim Kardashian-esque “ugly cry” face). And for those who claim to have never had a breakdown, either you have the thickest skin in the world, or you’re completely lying to yourself. I firmly believe that hitting the wall is a right of passage, as horrible and embarrassing as it is. But for those reading this who can relate, you know exactly what I am describing; it is brutal.

Although I have been a nurse for over 3.5 years, I can admit that I’ve had multiple tear infused moments throughout my career. Many of which occurred while I was a “new grad” nurse working in a fast paced intermediate care unit in St. Louis. I quite literally was learning everything I needed to know about caring for neurologically compromised patients while running around as if my pants were on fire 12+ hour shifts . I would leave mentally, physically, and emotionally drained, feeling as though I retained next to nothing and was “the dumbest person on the planet”. Up to four patients at any given time would consume my days, all requiring my care and needing something, often times simultaneously! Whether it be pain medications, trips to bathrooms, demanding to speak with their doctor, or pushing the call light “just because”, I started navigating the nursing minefield at a ripe age of 22. I was a baby; a fresh-faced nurse completely ignorant to the majority of everything,  but still eager to be out there and try my hardest.  I can thankfully say that after a while, I began to become comfortable with my patient population and somewhat knew what I was doing (or at least I believed I did!) Younger nurses came in after me and soon I was the one they were turning to for explanations and help. I began taking on leadership roles, and even became a known face at the hospital with the higher-ups due to my positions on councils and vocalness in my residency classes.  I even helped precept nursing students on my respective floor, which I absolutely loved because I was able to create good experiences that fostered learning, leaving them happy to have chosen this career path and hopeful for their own futures.

It wasn’t until I transferred to the Neuro ICU that my second wave of “breakdowns” occurred.  I had envisioned the transfer from intermediate care to critical care to be a breeze! I mean my patient’s weren’t up walking around as much, we weren’t traveling off the floor to various scans as frequently, I was only in charge of 1-2 patients at most, and it seemed as though the nurses just sat around all day (Plus there were a ton of pot lucks… and who doesn’t love a good pot luck?!).  I had a false sense of security when I began in the ICU, only to have all of my confidence shattered as I began taking on patients who were near death’s door. These patients were critically ill and I felt way over my head at times. I had underestimated the seriousness of the ICU and the level of knowledge I was expected to know, master, and regurgitate. Not only was I now responsible for higher level skills, I was expected to use higher level reasoning and understand the “why’s” and “what’s” of things. Why do we give this med? What are these symptoms indicative of? What can you expect from a patient with this diagnosis? Why are their lab values off? And so on and so forth. Ventilators, vasoactive drips, invasive lines, bedside procedures, lab analysis, rounds with attendings, difficult conversations, and even end of life care dominated my new world. I remember being so overwhelmed one shift that I forgot how to do basic skills such as setting up a feeding pump with enteral feeds; a skill that I had taught so many nursing students not long beforehand (my former preceptor, and dear friend, and I now look back and laugh at that day and say that was my “freebie” shift during orientation). I was forced to use my mind and pull all aspects of my nursing knowledge together to provide good care for my patients and work alongside our diverse team. There were days that I would feel so inept, forgetting what it was like to be new again,  having to start from the ground up. However, with experience, and lots of mistakes, came confidence and growth. Sure, I made some questionable clinical judgments at times, and I was nowhere near the perfect nurse (spoiler alert: regardless of what the Joint Commission thinks, its damn near impossible to be “perfect” 1000% of the time), but I had grown so much in just a short time. After a year and a half of time in the ICU, I left feeling self-assured that my new adventure in Chicago would be an easier transition than the one I had previously. But boy was I wrong yet again…..

My transition into pediatrics has been exponentially more difficult than I would have ever imagined. Not only am I learning everything the “Lurie way”, I am also having to unlearn my old habits and think about things from a pediatrics perspective. In a world of adults, 5mL’s of fluid isn’t a huge deal. However, to a small infant barely weighing 10 pounds, this amount of fluid is a HUGE deal! Everything is on a smaller scale and you are aware of the most minute of details, such as how much mL’s a kid pee’s in their diaper. Our medication dosages are all weight based and at the tiniest of rates;  fractions of what I am used to administering to the adult population. I can honesty say I rarely sit down the majority of my shifts, and there are times I struggle to even remember half of what the doctor’s verbally order for me. My kids are critically ill and for some I wonder how they’ll even survive their diagnosis let alone make it through my shift at times. I am now aware of how prevalent child abuse is and have learned the harsh reality that not every family is loving or kind. I am still learning and have a long way to go; thankfully I have many more weeks to go on my orientation and many preceptors to help guide me, otherwise this post would be way more ominous.

Coming from a previous ICU experience, I assumed that I would fall into my new job in the PICU with ease and that I would be a natural. After all, I’ve worked with critically ill patient’s before, just bigger and with more comorbidities. Children had to be just as easy  if not easier, right?! WRONG! These children are proving to be incredibly complex and difficult. I can admit that, in fact, I do not know it all and even though I’ve had ventilated patient’s before, I have no idea how half of these ventilators even work! Instead of cranky “big people” who would get confused and yell profanities at me, I now attempt to console irritable infants who cannot tell me what they want or need, completely miserable from the upper respiratory virus season. I’ve been nocturnal for over a month now and I don’t even remember what It’s like being awake and functional before 3pm most days.  At times I’ve questioned my career choices, and wondered if I have made a huge mistake by making this move to Chicago and completely starting over. I foolishly underestimated how mentally and emotionally challenging this process would be, and sometimes I don’t give myself enough grace for my shortcomings. It is something I am consciously working on and need to remind myself to do.

Despite this time in my life where I am unsure of almost everything and feeling so low at times, I am thankful for the lessons it has taught me thus far. Recently, I have learned what I am good at; I am good at trauma based patients with neurological components (SHOCKER FROM THE GIRL WHO CAME FROM A NEURO ICU AND IS TRAUMA CERTIFIED! I BET NO ONE SAW THAT ONE COMING!). I am also good with older kids who can express their needs and I have the ability to relate to and reason with. I take great pride at listening to parents, asking about their children and life outside of the hospital, and offering collaboration when appropriate. I know that I am not the expert in the room, nor will I ever be, on the tiny human in the bed I am caring for. My parents are often my greatest ally in helping me comfort and care for their child, allowing a child to trust me and let me do what I need to do. I am slowly finding things that I naturally gravitate towards, as well as the things that I must strive to work at. For example, reasoning with a scared, flailing, and screaming three year old to get a temperature or blood draw is proving to be hard on both my back and patience at times (although these kiddos are so cute and you truly cannot fault them for being so scared!). I am learning to slow down, take a breath, and not be so reactionary when I am feeling overwhelmed, which has been one of the hardest lessons, as I am someone who is used to performing procedures on sedated or comatose adults for the past year and a half.  I am learning that it’s OK to be new again and that a PICU RN isn’t made overnight! In fact, my “breakdown” at work was fueled by a tiny two month old baby, inconsolable from RSV, screaming and struggling for hours on end. Between trying to understand the oxygen titrations, attempting to offer help to his sleep deprived parents to get him semi comfortable, talking with the residents and articulating my questions and concerns, and keeping the monitors from alarming falsely from his incessant movement, I felt exhausted and frustrated. RSV season is terrible and often times these children are exceptionally uncomfortable and fussy from trying to breath. I felt so defeated and the tension in the room was mounting as his two parents tried quieting and holding him to calm him down, despite the loud alarms that would send me running in the room every 5 minutes to reset. Eventually, I broke down myself,  in front of my preceptor, telling her that I didn’t think I could do it anymore. This tiny, two month old baby had conquered me with a KO and I was ready to hang up my stethoscope and call it quits! Luckily, after a pep talk and a few dramatic minutes of crying in the supply room, I returned to my respective rooms and pulled myself together (magically the baby slept for 4 hours and I made sure not to touch him at all costs, in fear of “Waking the Dragon”).

To all of those reading this,  there are going to be days that will test you. It’s inevitable that at some point you’ll be faced with something that takes you out of your comfort zone and shakes you up. In the moment it will probably be overwhelming and the instinctual fight-or-flight mechanism will kick in overdrive, either compelling you to walk away or stick it out. When this happens and you are faced with that choice, I hope you find the strength to choose the latter and to learn from the conflict. This choice isn’t always easy, but it’s the one that fosters growth and wisdom. Just take a deep breath and remember that, “This too shall pass”, even if it means you have to shed a few tears in privacy (or publicly if you are me and have no shame).  A bad day, or shift, doesn’t equate a bad life either; it’s an unforseen opportunity to develop resiliency and build character. Perspective is key and there is always something to learn from challenging times.

Most importantly, for the new nurses and veteran nurses who are “new again”, know that I have been there, and I am still there currently. I am with you and I understand. I’ve always said that our profession is a beautiful burden and a calling that speaks to those who are ready to answer. Despite the long hours and shifts where I struggle to stay afloat and keep it together, I wouldn’t change what I do for anything in the world. In my soul, I know that I have been put on this Earth to heal and love and care for others; it is my life’s purpose. As I progress to my time on day shift and live on functional hours again, I will take with me the lessons of the night; patience, steadfastness, and forgiveness. I am hopeful for the next few weeks of orientation and the growth that will occur along the way. The road will be filled with many mistakes and tears, no doubt, but I intend on taking every lesson in stride and being a more tolerant verison of myself.

Cheers to self love and getting through it all, one step at a time!

Signed,

A very exhausted but hopeful nurse

 

I don’t think there was ever a time in my life that I didn’t love to dance. Some of my earliest memories as a child consist of my mother taking me downstairs in our basement, turning on Janet Jackson’s 1997 Velvet Rope cassette tape and dancing to Together Again. We would practice stretching and she would teach me the basics, like ballet positions and how to point my toes correctly. My dad would chuckle watching our informal classes, but these times have always stuck out to me as some of the most vivid memories of my mom and I.  Although my mom was never formally trained growing up, she had enough natural talent and drive to be able to take class along side trained dancers at the Chicago Performing Arts Academy when she was in high school. Her high school was akin to the school in Fame where you auditioned based on your respective performing arts specialty. Surprisingly enough, my mother’s was not dance; she was accepted for acting. However, that didn’t stop her from perusing classes and dancing for the joy of it. In turn, when I became old enough and expressed interest, she enrolled me into a local dance studio and the rest was history. (Unfortunately I did not inherit her natural flexibility or good feet, which I’m still very salty about). Soon my years were filled with classes and  competitions, drives to and from various dance studios, and umpteen amounts of bobby pins and pounds of hair spray. This passion lasted well into college where I would annually perform for my sorority’s dance team, as well as a stint on a student lead dance team, mainly composed of “Greek Life” girls who missed the thrill of choreography and camaraderie that only hours of practice and sweat could provide.

After college, I began pursuing various outlets for hobbies and activities. To everyone’s surprise, and even my own, I took up running and fell head over heels in love. Besides the hours of movement and the infamous “runners high”, (which is 1000% real by the way),  choosing my running playlist was always a highlight of my training. I spend hours choosing music with adequate BPM’s to match the mood of my mileage. The more I ran, the more that I began to delve into the world of EDM. This genre of music is known for its high BPM’s, exciting buildup and drops, and overall energetic tone. There’s a reason why the majority of workout classes use this type of music to motivate clients, and why major nightclubs feature world-renowned artists and DJ’s to entertain mass crowds. During my runs, I would pop on this music, listen to sometimes hour-long sets, and my mind would carry me away to a dance floor that I envisioned myself on. The miles became easier and I noticed that even after my workout ended, the happiness this music brought me continued to grow. After a year of listening to this music and having been to enough night clubs to build a base of artist knowledge, I decided to attend a festival in the Spring of 2017 called Hangout Music Fest. Little did I know my life would forever change in ways that I could never imagine…

I remember my first true set like it was yesterday. I decided to attend an artist named Gryffin mid day, by myself, due to my fellow condo mates unwilling or unable to join me due to massive Day 3 hangovers. Dressed as a Baywatch lifeguard, I strolled up to the infamous “Boom Boom Tent” with the other festival goers who loved this electronic music, in a space where anything was possible and everyone was completely themselves.  Although I was alone, I had an overwhelming sense of peace. Normally I would have felt awkward attending something alone, especially when I had a condo full of friends a couple blocks away I could easily retreat to. However everyone was dancing around me, smiling, and encouraging me to bask in the good vibes that were so palpable in the air. Soon, any anxiety I felt was swept away with the Gulf’s current and I was dancing without missing a beat. During that set I met lifelong friends who adopted me into their crew and whom I still attend festivals, visit, and are friends with to this day. Below is my first “festival family” whose love and acceptance have contributed to the woman I am today. I’ll forever be grateful for taking that leap of faith that day and for these faces who made me feel at home, a million thank you’s could never suffice for the love and bond we have created.

From May 2017 until today, I have attended 10 festivals, with 2 more in my near future, and no plans on stopping anytime soon. To some, I’m extreme and insane, and chasing something that defies logic and spending money in incredulous ways. To other’s who know what I know and have experienced what I have, I’m following a path that not all are called to. Beyond the videos of the neon skies, fireworks, pulsating music, late nights, and partying, I can honestly say I’ve found my soul and my Truth. I’ve seen other parts of the world through festivals, have met incredible people along the way, cultivated lifelong friendships, fallen in love (those “Rave Baes” can be so real, let me tell ya!), and found a sense of spirituality that I am deeply connected to. My festival friends are so near and dear to me because of the unspoken love and respect for each other, vowing to care for each other and bask in the exhilarating music, creating memories that last a lifetime. To explain the love and sense of unity that us ravers and “festies” share is hard to put into words. It’s knowing that the person next to you is so grateful to be alive in that particular moment in time,  sharing that experience, accepting you unconditionally. It’s small things like sharing water when you’ve dance you heart out, or trading Kandi that you’ve made in hopes to brighten someone’s day.  It’s a world where you can leave your problems at the door, be your authentic self, and create a sense of Home where anything is possible. It’s looking out onto a crowd of over 100,000 people from all over the world, on your best friend’s shoulders, and feeling the energy and love from everyone around you. It is exhilirating, raw, and life in its purest form.

I can without a doubt say that EDM has changed my life for the better. It’s connected me back to my love of dance and to my truest self. This path has blessed me with friendships that I hold so near and dear to my heart, and a sense of self love that has been cultivated through unconditional acceptance. I’ve learned that being myself is the most beautiful thing in the world, and although you may come a little broken at times,  music really can cure the hurt in your heart. That there are genuinely good people in this world and that we are all connected, searching for a place to call Home and a sense of overwhelming love. I am forever grateful for this past year and a half and the lessons I have been lucky enough to learn, for they have made me a kinder and more loving version of myself. I hope everyone has the chance to find something in life that they love so dearly, and I hope that they never lose sight of why it calls to them. For me, I’ll always find my best self under the Neon Sky ❤

 

Hello friends, and Happy 2019! It’s been a while since I’ve taken a breath, sat down, and written from the heart. Between work, the holidays, and taking time to travel, clearing my head has taken a spot on the back burner. Throughout my life, I’ve always been one to move as much as possible, both literally and figuratively. Often times my days and weeks were filled with multiple extracurricular activities, leaving every possible hour of my schedule accounted for. Even though my day could consist of running from soccer to ballet, changing in the car, and eating dinner at 10pm, I still managed to excel at school and graduate in the top of my class. After all, If I could do all these things and still “succeed”, then I must obviously know how to time manage and be efficient right?! This way of thinking and approaching life has carried on well into my adulthood as seen by the constant need to be doing and having been asked multiple times whether or not I am actually employed (yes in fact I do have a career, contrary to popular belief). However, as the years have gone by, I’ve found myself exhausted and burnt out mentally from running at this lightening speed pace. The thought of sitting still, doing nothing, and relaxing is still something I struggle to grasp, yet I know I need to master. But why is it that sitting still is such an uncomfortable thing for me at times? Could it be that this fast paced way of life has become a coping mechanism to avoid the fact that often times I struggle with loneliness and my own inner thoughts? That maybe I don’t have it all figured out just yet and that I’m still working on navigating the waters of my new life that is filled with so much exciting, yet scary changes? Or maybe that If I stop and sit long enough, I’ll have to come to terms with some things and really learn how to love and forgive myself…. Wow, isn’t that a little intense and completely overwhelming?

Over the past few days my social media was flooded with pictures and posts of friends and family reflecting back on their 2018 year. Many of these posts depicted collages of the highlights of the year ranging from engagements, to travels, pregnancy announcements, graduations, and weddings. It touched my heart seeing how happy everyone appeared and how 2018, for many, seemed to be a time filled with positivity and love. I began reflecting on my year and all that had occurred in these 12 months that seemed to fly by. For me, 2018 was a year filled with ups and downs, some experiences being the best of my life, while others the absolute worst. Sure, I had traveled more than most people ever do in their lifetime and I am lucky to have met some incredible people along the way, however, I couldn’t shake this feeling of sadness that accompanied my past year’s highlight reel. So much of the unrest has stemmed from difficult events that have truly tested who I am as a person and have caused me to reflect and grow on where I’ve been. I can honestly say that this year was one filled with transformation and some life events that have affected me in deep ways, both positive and negative. As someone who can be a borderline neurotic perfectionist, I often don’t handle change or the unknown well, let alone disappointment or rejection.  I tend to get anxious when it feels as though I am failing at something or appear to be ‘less than”, leading to a downwards spiral of negative self talk, excessive sensitivity, and/or over analyzing events and interactions. I know that these are negative aspects of my personality and things that I have to consciously work at throughout my entire life in order to be healthy mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. However, I recognize that these flaws are what makes me who I am, and that the positive aspects of my personality are much stronger and brighter than the negative. I have a huge heart, would do almost anything for anyone, and am empathetic almost to a fault. I genuinely care; sometimes caring so much it can cause myself to hurt in the process. I put myself in other people’s shoes and make decisions based on how I would feel in the moment if the situation was reversed. I try to be a good friend at all times, although I admit that I can come up short and unintentionally hurt the ones I love most. Despite my flaws, I still try to show up every day being the best possible version of myself, willing to apologize, grow, and learn from my mistakes. These days I’m just taking it day by day, moment by moment, finding the light in the small things and appreciating the path I am on; hoping that I end up where I need to be and find my place in this cosmic universe.

Throughout the years I’ve found myself with some pretty “basic” resolutions that never seemed to come to fruition and were soon forgotten once winter melted into spring. These have ranged from, “I’m going to lose a ton of weight and look hot AF!”,  to, “I’m going to get back into the dating game and find a decent man!” and everyone’s favorite,  “I’m going to actually save money and get my finances in order!” (if anyone knows me well, let’s all laugh at that one while I check my bank account and cry). When I look back, I realized that these resolutions were merely me chasing after something in hopes that it would make me feel better, putting a temporary band aid on the hurt I felt subconsciously. What was it that I felt was lacking that a simple NYE resolution would magically fix? Surely this “void” was one that had been there for sometime, but I hadn’t acknowledged due to how busy I kept myself. Once I began to listen to my heart, slowing down, and having those uncomfortable conversations with myself I have always dreaded, I started to learn that I need me and my own self love most of all. I was the missing puzzle piece to my own happiness and the answers I’ve been looking for have been there all along. I am the ONE who is solely responsible for loving myself to the core and giving myself the unconditional love I so willingly and freely give to others. Learning how to forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made and times when I’ve come up short for other people. How beautiful and liberating is that; Finally allowing myself to receive what I have always given away without reservation, yet couldn’t seem to accept for myself?

A near and dear person in my life, who also shares the same understanding of our “Higher Power”, recently reminded me to “Trust The Process” and learn to let go. For me, this is isn’t going to be an easy concept and one that I will need to work on every day and remind myself to practice. I am someone who finds comfort in controlling the things I can, knowing what is going to happen, and adequately preparing for every possible scenario. However, in order to move forward in this New Year and make way for blessings to come, I need to relinquish my fears of the unknown and actually learn to trust that the best is yet to come for me.  If I can unconditionally love myself despite my flaws and accept that, in fact, I do deserve unconditional love in return,  2019 will be a year of fulfilled manifestations and peace. That all I have desperately needed is attainable after all, and that this person I’ve always dreamed to be has been here all along.

To all those reading this, I wish a New Year filled with happiness, laughter, love, and self discovery. May you all find the self love you need along your journey and trust that you are more than enough. Wishing you infinite love and light during these next 363 days.

 

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear”- Nelson Mandela

I know what you’re probably thinking, “What is the hell is Emily going to babble about this time and what do pajamas have to do with anything relevant?!” Well friends, I promise everything will come together in due time!

I’ve always considered myself to be an independent person, unafraid of going out on a limb and doing things my own way (cue female empowerment songs in the background like “I’m Every Woman” or “Independent Women” if you’re feeling sassy on this fine Friday evening). I live by the philosophy of “If not now, when?”, which has led me on some of the most beautiful, crazy adventures that I will forever treasure. Growing up without siblings, I realized from an early age that if I didn’t learn to be secure with being alone and doing much of life with just myself as my compass, then I would surely miss out on all that life has to offer. Since I would never have a built-in safety net that siblings often provide, I took on a sense of empowerment regarding my independence from being an only child, relying solely on myself to forge the way.  If I waited around for someone to “do life” with, whether it be a friend or significant other, I would watch once in a lifetime opportunities pass me by, and I could not have that! However, all too often this sense of bold self-sufficiency, almost to a fault at times, has led me to places and situations where I am completely vulnerable and solo. Which is where my lovely pajamas come into play….

I recently started my new job at Lurie Children’s Hospital as of a week ago. In fact, tonight will be my first night as a functioning nurse on the Pediatric ICU. To say that I am nervous, and overwhelmed is an understatement. Although I love children and have always dreamed of being a pediatric nurse, my experience caring for hospitalized children is non-existent, let alone interacting with parents whose child is critically ill. Coming from an adult ICU, I have experience with various interventions, medications, and physiologic understandings (and I am forever grateful for Barnes for preparing me to the best of my abilities and for shaping me into the RN I am today), but the pediatric world is a New World all in itself.  In a few short hours I will be walking into the unit hoping and praying that I am a good fit and that these next twelve weeks of orientation will facilitate exponential growth, leading me to become the best possible PICU RN I can be.

When I learned that the PICU was going to have a holiday party last night, I decided that it was a good idea to attend, as it would allow me to put names to faces and hopefully make a good impression to my future coworkers. After all, the holiday party was at a bar directly next to my apartment, and it would be silly of me not to go and use this as a good opportunity to get myself out there. And that’s when I learned that the party’s theme was “Holiday Spirit”. If you know me, you know that I use any and every excuse to dress up when there is a themed event (or a non-themed event, where I therefore make it an unofficial themed event because I can). Maybe it was all the years of sorority life that led to this affinity for playing dress up, or the fact that it’s just fun to wear ridiculous clothing at any given opportunity. After long deliberation, but mainly realizing that I had no other Holiday themed attire in my closet, I decided on my plush Christmas Onsie that depicts Santa Clause riding on a majestic unicorn in the sky.  Uncannily similar to the famous paining Napoleon Crossing the Alps, Santa wields a candy cane, ready to deliver his sack of toys to whoever is on his “Nice list” (low-key hoping I make the cut because I’ve been eyeing that Ugg Sherpa Blanket from Bed, Bath, & Beyond….). And to top it off, the butt pocket says “Don’t Stop Believing”. I’ve decided to attach a photo as a reference point and for your viewing pleasure to better envision me as the story goes on.

So here I am, ready to meet my new coworkers for the first time, in a bar with the general public, dressed to impress in these oh so stylish jammies. What’s the worst that can happen, am I right?!  Oh and I forgot to mention one little thing, despite my encouragement and pleas, none of my fellow new hires wanted to accompany me due to not actually knowing anyone who would be in attendance (which is 1000% OK and I would never want anyone to feel pressured to attend something that made them feel uncomfortable).  When I refer to my independence leading me to vulnerable situations, this is exactly what I meant, and boy does it create for some good stories.

Before heading into the bar, I had a minor panic attack. I envisioned myself akin to Elle Woods in Legally Blonde when she shows up dressed up to the Harvard Halloween Party as a Playboy bunny, despite the party being a non-costumed event. Granted, she was intentionally told to dress up so that everyone would get a laugh at her expense, but she did rock that pink bunny outfit and handle the mishap cleverly! What if I had read the flyer wrong and it wasn’t actually a dress up event; I just had taken the creative liberty to assume that it was? Or worse, it was a dress up event and I was the only one who actually dressed up, and no one would know who I was and assume that I was just a misplaced girl in a Onsie infiltrating their party. After talking myself off the ledge and taking a deep breath, I decided to enter the bar and put the best face forward. Luckily my apartment was a few steps away and I could retreat if things got awkward and I needed an escape route.

When making first impressions, I assume that things typically go a little more smooth than my course last night. Usually you have someone to help with your introduction and give you a little heads up on who’s who in the group. After mistakenly asking if one of our fellows was a nurse and my preceptor (to be fair she was extremely nice and said she was working tonight!), I decided to find whoever was organizing the event and give them the low down on their new hire, in hopes they introduce me to some of my 150+ coworkers, whose names I would inevitably forget, especially after a few cocktails. Sure, things were a little awkward at first, mainly because I was nervous to go up to groups of already established friends, interjecting  myself as the newbie in their already effortless conversations. Just as I was about to leave due to the overwhelming awkwardness I was feeling inside, my Higher Self told me to stay, despite not knowing a single soul in the bar. She reminded me that, “these people in this room will be your teammates soon enough and in due time you will rely on them to survive and navigate your new career.” In that moment realizing this to be True, I decide to stay, if only a little while longer, just to give it a chance.

Maybe it’s my background in sports, or my intrinsic desire to work amongst others, but I have always thrived when teamwork is an essential component to an activity. Healthcare in essence is a “team sport”. You rely on all members of the team, from the physicians, to techs, to fellow nurses, and pharmacists, to survive and keep your patient safe and provided for. In my 3.5 years of experience as a nurse, I have never gone a single shift without needing help,  nor has there been a shift where I have not helped out another coworker. We rely on each other for support, and we work toward a common goal of keeping our patients in the best possible state. These new faces are the ones who will be helping me in the middle of the night, when I am panicked and unsure of what to do when my patient takes a turn for the worse. They are going to be the ones to help and guide me when I care for my first intubated infant, my first pediatric code, and should the terrible situation arises, my first pediatric death. In turn, I will be there as well, helping and comforting, doing my due diligence as their teammate, providing them with the same level of support. I wanted to be present and let everyone know that I was ready to show up for them, even if that meant putting myself out there, scared to death, while wearing that ridiculous outfit last night.

As the night progressed and the vodka sodas began flowing, I was surprised at how nice everyone was and how much of a talking piece the Unicorn Onsie became. Luckily for me, some people even recognized me from various educational classes and walk troughs on the unit. Whether or not this is true, or that I just have a generic face that is often mistaken for other people, it made me feel more confident that in time I would find my place in the PICU and call this new unit Home. The longer I wore my magic jammies, the more unafraid I was to make a statement and be the “newbie”, unafraid to jump right in alongside everyone else (I’d like to think the vodka sodas helped too!). Ultimately, I would be spending my next years with these people and now was as good of a time as ever to make friends.

So here I am, in my apartment, nestled in my bed wearing the infamous Unicorn Onsie. I am preparing myself for the long night ahead and the unknown. It sounds crazy, but in a way these jammies have helped me gain a new sense of confidence. It takes a lot of courage to walk into room full of strangers and make a first impression solo, especially in a professional setting. I’m proud of myself for taking that leap of faith last night and putting myself out there, as it gives me the confidence to continue taking life head on. Regardless of tonight’s shift, I know that in the morning I can fall back into my bed and wear these jammies with the same smile I woke up with. And for that, I am extremely hopeful.