WHY IT *REALLY* IS OK THAT YOU ONLY HAVE YOURSELF TO RELY ON

There is a common joke among single people on dating apps. When perusing these apps, you will often come across a profile that says "Looking for a new emergency contact." While meant to be humorous, the reality is that it's actually a true statement for a lot of people.  As a single woman, without my immediate family nearby, I have often found myself at a doctor's office filling out forms, and having to leave the question about emergency contacts blank. At different times, I have had an out of state family member or a friend listed.  Yet, when you are single, there never seems to be a good answer to this question.    

When I got diagnosed with cancer in 2013, my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. Not immediately, but shortly thereafter. I started off treatment feeling optimistic and strong about attacking this diagnosis head on.  I had someone in my corner who was ready to fight for me, and alongside me. Fast forward, and a few arguments later about his disappearing whereabouts while spending time with his female best friend (a woman who he wouldn't allow me to meet), and not surprisingly, our relationship ended.  Fighting cancer was one thing; fighting cancer after being left by the person who was my designated "support person" was quite another.  (Shortly thereafter, the two of them had a baby together and got married. Yes, the writing was on the wall, I was just too slow to see it). Several years later, I was dating someone else, and whenever I had the required follow up medical testing, he refused to accompany me.  One time, after much coaxing, I got him to agree. Between tests, when I came out to check on him, I unexpectedly found him on the phone with a woman, who I later discovered he had been communicating with for a long time behind my back. (Fast forward again, and he and this woman have been living together ever since).  

Is the moral of the story don't get cancer because you will get dumped, not just once, but twice? No! That is not the take home message here.  I don't tell these stories to sound like a victim.  I am not.  On the contrary, I am a survivor, in all sense of the word.  If nothing else, these experiences taught me how strong I really was...how strong I am.  These selfish, cowardly men taught me an invaluable lesson: You only have yourself to rely on.  And, surprisingly, that is actually a good thing! These experiences occurred at a time when I truly was alone to fend for myself.  My kids were in elementary school at the time, I was busy caring for them, running my psychology practice, and fighting cancer, along with all the other requirements of daily life.  I did not have family in town, and my ex husband was not focused on what's referred to as "cooperative coparenting". This time period in my life, more than any other, taught me the true value of self-reliance.  

When we start to count on another person for things we can navigate ourselves, we give up a part of our independence. Partnership is good, while co-depedence has its drawbacks.  Many clients come to me stating they are in a codependent relationship and want to learn to how to either stop needing so much from their partner, or conversely, to stop being the one to give so much to their partner. It can be hard not to fall into this way of doing things in a relationship. People often refer to their significant other as their "better half" or their "rock." I have had people tell me that together with their spouse they feel they are whole.  The well known line from the movie Jerry Maguire highlights this with the phrase "You complete me." However, another person is not the way to feel whole.  One needs to feel complete independent of anyone else.  Sometimes, a partner subtracts rather than adds to our resilience.  If you find yourself struggling with needing to be self reliant, consider these lyrics by Miley Cyrus:

"I can buy myself flowers, write my name in the sand. Talk to myself for hours, say things you don't understand. I can take myself dancing, and I can hold my own hand. Yeah, I can love me better than you can." 

If at times, you also find yourself with only yourself to rely on, at the very least, you can feel confident that you are in good hands! 

THE FEAR OF CHANGE

As a psychologist, especially one who treats a wide range of anxiety disorders, I often find myself talking to clients about their fear of change. Let's face it, change can be hard for anyone. Yet, it is an integral part of life. At different times throughout the lifespan, change is more salient than others.  One of my favorite quotes is "The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new."  If we cannot accept the changes in our lives, and in the world around us, then we may suffer unnecessary negative psychological consequences. Holding on to yesterday and resisting change has never helped anyone grow or progress through life. However, focusing on adapting to life's changes will make the process much more palatable. 

Some life transitions are ones we choose, and others happen against our will. Both types can be difficult to navigate. Common examples of life changes include going off to college, navigating the job market, getting married, becoming a parent, going through a breakup or getting divorced, adjusting to a health condition, becoming an empty nester, retiring from a career, becoming a grandparent, or the death of a partner or loved one.  Sometimes during periods of change and transition, people feel like they are losing their predictable routine, and the safety of knowing what to expect.  Sometimes people are so shaken by change that they feel like they are losing parts of themselves. In essence, they are losing their identity. 

Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and the founder of a type of psychotherapy known as logotherapy, wrote "When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves." His statement summarizes the idea that even in times of extreme difficulty in which we cannot change our circumstances, we can still choose our attitude and responses to a situation.  If Frankl could find a way to adjust to such a horrific life change as trying to survive a concentration camp, then there is hope for the rest of us to learn to overcome more typical life obstacles and transitions. 

While working with my clients on their fears of change, one of the things I help them focus on is living in the here and now, rather than in the place in their head that houses their worries and potential downfalls. A key to adapting to change is to focus on what you can control, rather than the aspects of a situation that are out of your control.  One thing I often teach my clients is how to make sure they are not getting caught up in the What Ifs, but rather focusing on the What Is. So much of life can be simplified into what is true vs. what we are afraid will become true. The What Ifs are all of the possible bad things that can happen, whereas the What Is encompasses only the objective truth of what is actually happening.  

Choosing how we decide to respond to life's changes has an impact on our psychological well being.  When we don't accept these transitions, we risk experiencing feelings of anxiety, helplessness, depression, stagnation, and lower self worth, to name just a few. Change is inevitable, but our responses to it are within our control. As Thomas Rhett sings: "Ain't it funny how life changes, you wake up, ain't nothing the same and life changes. You can't stop it, just hop on the train and you never know what's gonna happen..." He points out that change can be out of our control, and tells us that we just have to ride it out. Yet, despite all of the uncertainty in life, Rhett's last line reminds us that there is something of value in accepting this fact. He tells us "Life changes, and I wouldn't change it for the world." I agree. 

GAIN FROM LOSS: FINDING THE SILVER LINING

Lately it seems as though many of my clients are dealing with all kinds of grief and loss.  Whether that be the death of a loved one, the loss of a pet, pregnancy loss, termination from a job, navigating divorce, or even loss of a sense of safety in the world, there are billions of people who are struggling to get through all kinds of devastating circumstances.  Sometimes, loss is not about the absence of something in our personal world or the world around us, but rather an emptiness inside us. This could be due to the loss of one's physical capacities, cognitive abilities, or even the loss of a time in life that brought more joy or security.  Regardless of the type of loss we may face, the toll it takes is often indescribable. Yet, in all of the misery, there are moments of clarity and strength that would not have otherwise been acquired. Rather than describe my clients' experiences, I will give some personal examples from my own life, in hopes that someone reading this will benefit from the viewpoints expressed here.   

Last week, I was driving around doing errands, and passed different areas where I lived while raising my children.  It got me thinking about the loss of a place and a time, and never being able to relive or redo certain moments in our lives. For example, years ago, when my then-husband filed for divorce while my kids were essentially still babies, I was somewhat blindsided to say the least.  We had experienced a lot of conflict in our marriage, as two people do who have very different views of parenting, and of the world in general.  I knew divorce was ultimately in my best interest, but it was not something for which I was prepared. Occasionally, I have thought about the biggest disappointment of my divorce, which was not the dissolution of my marriage, but rather the loss related to not having a true partner in raising children together.  At present time, my kids are no longer kids, and my divorce seems like a lifetime ago.  However, driving past all of the places where I raised my children, I felt a momentary loss. It was a sudden and unexpected reminder of the challenges that came with single parenting, as well as how quickly time passes. However, I am proud of myself for how I navigated single parenting and divorced life with little kids.  It reminds me of how courageous, fun, patient, and strong I was at that time.  

A few years after my divorce, my mother died unexpectedly. Two months after that, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  The timing of all of it was unfortunate.  However, I was fortunate that I was able to see my mother the day she died, as my parents were in town to see my kids.  I was also fortunate to need minimal cancer treatment (in comparison to what some people have to go through), and I am beyond grateful that the cancer never returned. Yet, there was still loss involved.  The loss was about no longer living a life in which I didn't have to think about my health or my mortality. At 40, I was focused on raising two young children. I was busy with my psychology practice, and trying to navigate treatment, work, and my parenting time alone. I feel proud of how well I handled such a difficult time, especially since I had no family in the area. Sometimes I think about the ex-boyfriend who broke up with me during that time (he is now married to his female friend for whom he left me.) That was a relationship loss that multiplied the grief and loss of my health.  A handful of years later, I had a follow up biopsy that went poorly (but fortunately was benign), which required me not to be left alone afterward. Instead of my boyfriend at that time being there for me, he broke up with me a few hours after the procedure.  Sometimes loss is about losing our sense of safety, our security, our trust in others, and often, our trust in ourselves.  I will say, after the experiences described above, I was able to come out stronger, and learned (albeit the hard way) how to trust my gut instincts, my own strength and capabilities, and to become a better judge of character.  Consequently, I have become very adept at helping others do the same.  

Fast forward to this past weekend, in which my adult son was flying home from vacation when he got caught in a terrible thunderstorm.  Tornadoes had touched down in a different part of the state, killing people and destroying homes.  I was worried because his plane was supposed to land during all of this, and I checked the flight that he was on. The only information I could find was that the plane was diverted.  It did not say to where, and there was no tracking of the flight's location. I lay awake all night thinking it was possible that my son was lost to the skies. Thoughts about a young person's life ending too soon, as so many parents unfortunately have to endure, is gut wrenching. I am grateful that my son's plane was diverted to an airport in another state, and then eventually he was able to return home.  I know far too many people who have lost children to terminal illness, accidents, suicide, and other unimaginable tragedies. I have seen parents who have been devastated by a child's death, but who are somehow able to find a greater purpose following the loss. It is this purpose that allows them to keep moving forward in life.  

Of all the obstacles humans face, grief and loss can be one of the most challenging, and which substantially detracts from finding the positive in life. Surprisingly, however, loss can also add something to our lives.  Loss shows us how valuable our friends and family are, and how meaningful human connection can be.  It shows us how strong we are during times when we only have ourselves to rely on.  It teaches us how to navigate an often grueling world, and to not give up when things get difficult.  Loss teaches us who we can count on, and who is wasting our time and energy. Loss allows us to grow and change and adapt. Most importantly, loss paves the way for gratitude for what we do have, so that we don't lose sight of what matters most.  It teaches us not to sweat the small stuff. The reality is that loss could not exist if we did not have others in our lives who make it more meaningful and rewarding.  As the following quote tells us (attributed to Queen Elizabeth II, who adapted it from a passage in a book by Dr. Colin Murray Parkes), "Grief is the price we pay for love."  I could not agree more.