Animals Saved My Life

I am an expert on integrating animals into group therapy with children.  I see things differently I have been told.  However, my perspective is the only one that makes sense to me.  I realized at age 23 that animals had truly saved my life.  When my father was killed in a plane crash when I was 9 years old I turned to my dog and rabbits when I was sad.  Then when my family was torn apart by a verbally abusive alcoholic I jumped on the back of my horse and escaped into a world free of yelling and screaming.  When my mother was killed in a car accident when I was 19 I again turned to animals when I secured a job at the local zoo.  If you look at my history I had every chance to turn to drugs, alcohol, sex, and suicide.  Because of my access to animals I was able to focus on life instead of death.

Now the most important thing in my life is providing this expertise to others.  Working side by side my animal ambassadors I am able to connect with children across Los Angeles in ways that no one else can.  I am given passage into their lives in a way that enables compassion and process in a safe and empathetic space.  I am passionate about providing each child whether dealing with death, divorce, gang violence,  peer pressure, whatever.  Each child deserves a chance for an alternative and self-expressive way to communicate with others in a way that builds inner strength and resiliency.

Animals saved my life when I was 9, 19, and now they have given me a reason to live at 32.  I hope you too find your life saved by who or whatever you need the most.  If you have please respond back and share your story with me.

Your Grief- Not Theirs

Recently I started dating.  This major event in my life has brought up questions about my mother and father.  What would they think of this man?  Would my father be protective?  Would my mother tell me stories of her dating experience?  All of these questions bring pain and despair.  I am encompassed by the reality that they are gone.

When I feel distant from their memories I bring out pictures and videos.  I sit watching and listening trying to make them as real as possible.  But what happens when you dig too deep?  When you try to hard to make them real again?  Reliving their death has become second nature to me.  Telling people that I have lost both of my parents is like telling people how I take my coffee.  I have desensitized myself to it.  Until the unexpected happened. . .

For the past 22 years I have believed that my father died in a plane crash that was caused by mechanical failure.  I found out this month that it was actually pilot error.  It was like being hit in the stomach with a bat.  I was stupefied.  I immediately started having feelings of anger and resentment.  Those pilots killed my father.  It took me two days to be able to start letting go.  I have spent the last 22 years believing something and the change was more than I could take, and all of this started because I went on a date.  There is no rhyme or reason to grief.  You cannot predict it.  You cannot control it.  Just be willing to go through it, however that might happen for you.

Why am i here?

Do you ever wonder if you stopped communicating who would come to find you?  Who would notice and how long would it take?  What would it be like if that is what you thought every second of every day?  Why am I here and what is my purpose?  This is what I deal with everyday.  People coming to me looking for answers that I do not have.  All I can tell them is they make my life better.  Who would you say that to?  Who in your life makes it better?  Brings a smile to your face just by showing up?  These are the people you should spend time with this holiday.  Remembering that as another year passes true friendship and love is the only reason we are here.  At its most basic we are living life based on our relationships with others.  Good and bad our interaction is what creates meaning in our life.

Thoughts?

In Memory of…

Many people have grieved the death of someone by the time they are 30 years old.  The people left behind always feel a need to honor the deceased in some grand fashion.  However, tattoo’s, window decals, and buildings do not heal the pain that is digging away at your heart.  We all walk around with a big “In Memory of” sign written across our life.  Instead of living to make ourselves proud we now develop a life to make the deceased proud, and since he or she is not there to validate our accomplishments anymore we never feel that sense of accomplishment or pride.  How does someone who has lost someone live a life that is not defined by giving death meaning?

Answer. You choose it.  The only way to let go of the expectations of the dead is to develop your own and not apologize for them.  You are worth living your own life and not feeling like you are letting someone down everytime something goes wrong.  I hope that everyone is able to honor the memory of the deceased without giving up your life in the process.  LIVE

Children’s Stories

John is an 11 year old boy who lives in skid row.  He is not able to control his anger effectively and finds it easier to hit or shut down.  He has had a hard time in class lately and provokes fights 2 or 3 times an hour.  When he left the room crying after striking another student I followed close behind with our small 5 pound poodle.  Frank was unwilling to talk or communicate in any way.  He was determined to block us out.  So I quickly asked if he wanted to hold Pali, the dog.  He shook his head, no.  so I rephrased the question.  “Could you watch Pali for me while I go into the classroom?”  He nodded his head in affirmation.

As I laid the small blind dog in his lap he wiped the tears from his eyes and began to stroke her.  When I came back he was open to talking with the other student about what had happened.  While holding Pali he was able to resolve the situation and then share Pali with the student he had been fighting with.  They did not fight again that day.

Thanks Pali!

Missing Mom

Today I woke up and felt off.  You all know what I am talking about.  That nagging feeling that something is wrong but you just do not know what.  I rolled myself out of bed and tried to throw off the heavyness that was pushing down on my shoulders.  I wanted to just curl back up in bed and go back to sleep, but I was not sure why.  As I struggled to uncover the inner answer I mechanically went about my day.

I realized that I was longing for the comfort of my mother.  I have been personally struggling with relationships and I just want to curl up in my mothers loving arms and weep.  It hurts and there is no one to just hold me.  Again I am painfully aware that she is gone.  Her arms will never wrap around me, and her hands will never stroke my hair as she soothes my soul.

12 years later and I am still learning what it means to be an orphan.

Personal Information- to tell or not to tell

As a counselor I hear the intimate details of peoples lives.  I find that people are very cautious for the most part about reliquishing personal information to others.  We are so cautious that we are shielding ourselves from everyone.  Even I am not immune to this idea that you can not trust others with your intimate thoughts, feelings, and actions.

I realized with the help of some friends that I was actually inhibiting my life and my relationships by not including others in my life.  I was deciding for them that they were not interested.  Have you ever kept something to yourself because you were afraid of how someone would respond or react?  This is a natural protective response, but how can people surprise us if we never give them the chance.  On top of that how can we surprise ourselves?

Take a chance this week and learn how to be vulnerable in a new way.  Tell someone what you really like in your coffee, or that you really don’t like it when they call you that cute little nick name.  Free yourself from the need to have others approve of you, and decide to approve of yourself. Love yourself.

Learning To Let Go-when will the pain of grief end?

April marks the 12 anniversary of my mother’s car accident.  Each year I believe the pain will go away, and each year I am disappointed.  As I work I think about all of the loss that the children have experienced.  Every day they loose their self-worth to people who speak failure and condemnation into their lives.  They loose their youth while watching their younger sisters and brothers instead of playing in the park.  They loose their security as their parents loose their homes and jobs.  So many of the kids in the nation are facing multiple losses.  Who or what have you lost?  Did you recover?  I hope that you spend the next few minutes thinking about how you could help someone else through their loss.

I am excited to go to work tomorrow and have another chance to speak encouragement and self-worth into the lives of the children who are struggling most.  What do you think would change in your life if you had no one to lift you up on a bad day?  So be that voice to someone else today.  We all need to know that someone cares.

Along the way . . .

Last week I lost my voice to allergy season. I am not sure if you have ever lost your voice before but it is not pleasant. At least not for me. I was told that it would take at least 48 hours for the medication to kick in. So I had 48 hours in which I was told not to speak for any reason. I wondered as the pharmacist told me this if she would be laughing if she really knew me. My friends thought it was hilarious.
I went back to the office and started the countdown. Even in the current atmosphere of internet networking and constant phone texting I was feeling utterly cut off from the world. As I stared at the computer screen I started feeling helpless and worthless. I wanted to be working, interacting with the children I had become so utterly attached to. I missed them.
I sat there with the frustration and bitterness growing inside me. How could this happen? I felt fine. The anger was welling up and threatening to overflow. I started to pray.
In the end I laid down on the floor with my dogs and tried to accept the unwanted day in the office that had been given to me. As I lay there stroking the dogs on either side of me I started to feel a sense of relief that everything was going to be ok.
I finished the two days of vocal rest and returned to work renewed, refreshed, and empowered that I truly love what I do.

The Meaning

As I drive my SUV down the crowded street I feel as if I have left the city that I call home and have entered a refugee zone. The war is apparently not over. There are dirty, emotionally disturbed people everywhere; crossing the street randomly, crowding together on the corner, and staring into my car. I find myself avoiding eye contact. The need is too great, and I feel small and ill equipped. I feel the pounding of my heart quicken as I see a parking place on the dirty urine laden street. It is time to get out and face my fear. What if they come aggressively at me wanting money, food, shelter, or help? I take a deep breath and open the door to the dirty, stench of the impoverished.

No matter how many times I make the trip it is always the same. Four years I have been coming here and I still look down and respond to few protests for assistance. Why am I here? Why won’t these people leave me alone? I hastily grab all of my materials- animals, teaching materials, lunch, etc- and head to the corner building.

When I reach the door I dread the time between knocking and someone answering. There is an uneasiness about the wait. Homeless people stare as they walk by, and take note of the animals that I have with me. They sometimes try to start conversation. When this happens the lump in my throat starts to thicken. Are they high? Are they armed? Will they hurt me if I offend them? All these questions are not enough to keep me from coming, but they are what I have been taught. Growing up a middle class privileged, white American you are not expected to work in the poverty stricken areas. You are expected to donate your finances.

I smile and say goodbye as I enter the building happy to be safely inside my refuge. I wonder if that is how the kids feel as they enter the building? The sense of relief that calms my body as my colleague greets me is like a refreshing breeze. Unfortunately, I think they are callused to the status. They do not know any different and therefore they do not know to fear it. It is comfortable. Bridging the gap in this reality is an undefined road that is met with many obstacles. The first obstacle I have maneuvered efficiently with little harm or injury. I am here.

Now the sparks within me come alive. I am passionately welcoming the children in to this safe house, and offering them a chance to expel their hidden fears and dreams. These two concepts are sometimes one in the same. They dream of better and are yet afraid to leave what they know. I am here with a team of devoted colleagues to uncover the strength within each child and allow every one the opportunity to expect something more.

Elana is a young girl with high expectations of herself and others. She like so many of the children here is expected to take care of herself. She is 10 years old and is unable to depend on anyone but herself. She learned at a young age that her parent had little time to spend nurturing and loving her. She was born to be strong and independent. Can you imagine a beautiful little girl unable to express or accept love? She is hard and to the point. There are no grey areas only black and white.

I stare at her beautiful dark face and watch as she states that she is not to come home injured from a fight. There would be no compassion or care if someone injured you physically or emotionally. In fact, if she is found crying from a fight her mother has told her, “If you come home crying again I will give you something to cry about.” This was followed by the expectation that if someone hits you, your response is to make it so they can never or will never hit you again. My heart aches as I look at the weathered and hardened face of this 10-year-old child. How can I express the injustice that is being scattered throughout this child’s life? And more importantly, how can I help?

The only answer I have found is to return. Week after week, month after month, year by year. I will return.