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Tag: mental health

  • From Striving to Self-Compassion

    From Striving to Self-Compassion

    For most of my life, I prayed for strength; now I find myself praying for gentleness. I used to believe that if I just tried harder, life would finally work — and maybe I’d finally be thinner. But sooner or later, effort becomes its own kind of exhaustion.

    I have come to learn that our bodies are designed to help us survive challenge, not to live in constant pursuit of it. When we push hard for long periods, our stress hormone cortisol stays elevated. At first it fuels motivation and alertness, but over time it begins to work against us. High cortisol can disrupt other hormones such as insulin, thyroid, and estrogen. It tells the body to store fat and hold on to energy “just in case.”

    For those of us living with autoimmune conditions, this constant stress signal can confuse the immune system, intensifying inflammation and fatigue. I have come to see that this is not just theory. It is the very pattern I find myself caught in, and it only adds to the stress I am trying to escape.

    What begins as determination can quietly become depletion. The harder we try to control, the more our bodies interpret life as unsafe. Muscles tighten. Sleep fragments. Digestion slows. The healing systems start to switch off. It helps to remember that this is not a moral failure; it is simply biology asking for safety.

    When we begin to interrupt that loop by resting, breathing, and nourishing ourselves kindly, something sacred happens. Cortisol steadies. Hormones rebalance. The immune system begins to trust again. Compassion becomes chemistry. Gentleness becomes medicine.

    I am learning that growth doesn’t always come from pushing harder. It’s not easy, especially when you’ve spent a lifetime equating effort with worth. Yet the work now is asking me to be quieter; to listen more deeply to the wisdom of the body, the whispers of the Spirit, and the longing for peace and a non-hustling life.

    I have often called out to God when I am at the end of my rope. Lately I am discovering that He meets me within these limits, not just at the end of them. He is not the One who demands more, but the One who abides when we can’t do more.

    So the next time we catch ourselves looping, planning, pushing, or punishing ourselves for not changing fast enough, let’s pause instead.
    Take a breath.
    Ask softly, “What might kindness look like here?”

    What if the truest transformation doesn’t happen through force but through gentleness? And the work is the steady turning from self-criticism to self-companionship; from striving to trust.

    If we traded willpower for wonder, what might we change?

    Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

    Grace begins where striving ends.

  • On loving a less than perfect mother on Mother’s Day

    On loving a less than perfect mother on Mother’s Day

    Today is Mother’s Day in Australia. The sentimental phrases about mothers started on Facebook about two weeks ago.  Instead of warm and fuzzy feelings I felt a deep sadness settle over me. Not just for my loss through my mother’s death six years ago, but for my loss during her life. I am ashamed that I have so few good memories of my Mum; hurt and disappointment seem to have got in the way. I want to honor mum; as I should. After all good girls honor their parents.  Why then am I struggling to do this?

    Many people loved my mum; including my siblings and I.  However, not everything was perfect behind closed doors.  Mental and emotional health was not something that was talked about when we were growing up nor was the impact on the children often considered. Even now I struggle to confess that my mother suffered from mental health issues.  I am still learning the impact this has had on my siblings and I.

    Growing up as the eldest of four children born within four years, I took on an idealistic and unrealistic mantle of the responsible one; the good girl.  I don’t know when I crossed the line and became responsible for my mother’s happiness and became the family’s peacekeeper?  I believe it had something to do with my mother’s struggle with anxiety and depression, my temperament and the dislike for conflict. What child does not want their mum to be happy and their parents to stop arguing?  As a teenager, I would often plead with her and retrieve a knife, a rifle or pills from her hands.  I would also clean the house first thing on a Saturday morning, before she could yell at us kids.  I did lots of things as an adult too to try to make my mum happy.  It feels like I could never quite get there. No matter what I did, it was never enough.

    At some stage I moved from wanting to make her happy to helping her to change and find happiness herself.  At the wise age of twenty-seven, I thought that if I could make changes then mum could too.  It was her GP that told me to let go of the mother I thought was inside and accept that this was my mother.  Sadly, I do not think I ever did this.  There was too much frustration in the way.  I struggled all my adult life wanting my mum to be somebody else and failed to accept her for who she was, flaws and all.  I think my sisters did this so much better than I. 

    I harboured frustrations, resentment and hurt for the loss of the mother that I would have liked to have had.  Sometimes it felt like she had an uncanny way of throwing back my fears and flaws when it seemed I was not good or responsible enough.  Shortly before her cancer diagnosis, Mum was unhappy with me because I had not spoken up in a family falling-out.  She punished me by not wishing me a happy birthday.  And she accused me of only doing my religious duty when several months later, I dropped off a gift and a card to her for Mother’s Day. I was trying so hard to please her and please my God by honouring her. It felt like I had failed.    

    I had put all my energy into pleasing her and others and pushed down or ignored my needs, my desires and my ideas.  It took me years to discover and accept who I am when I am not being the responsible one or the good girl.  This was and is not healthy for me or my relationships with others; including my mother. Forgiving my mum for not being perfect was essential to letting go.  Finding my voice has been an important part of my healing journey.

    Along the way, I have shed many tears in private and I have called out to Jesus to come and heal my very sore heart. I learnt to press into the pain, own my feelings and not stuff them down.   For someone that liked pleasing people; especially my mother, I had to get used to the feelings of being seen as the mean girl when I set boundaries; especially when I was used to the role of peacekeeper and one who usually rescues the situation.   That lesson did not come easily. Learning to express my needs requires honesty and can mean rejection; a feeling I have to downgrade. 

    Compassion and empathy for mum has come in waves.  It came at unscheduled moments. It came while watching Sandra Bullock’s character wrestle with her relationship with her mother in the movie “Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood”.  It comes when I recognise in myself similarities to mum as I age.  It came when reading a Brene Brown book and accepting ‘What if she was doing the very best she could?’

    When we found out mum was very sick, I dropped everything and loved my mum the only way I knew how; I did things for her.  I drove her six hundred kilometres to admit her into hospital. I often visited with her; sometimes giving Dad the opportunity to return home for a break and look after their home.  When she was released to come home to die, I drove to Brisbane to pick her up.  For the last few months, she was in palliative care at home, I bathed her and changed her sheets. I visited her most mornings and every afternoon to check in on her.  We never really talked about things she said.  Somehow, they were not important anymore.   

    I am learning to live with the sadness of a mother gone.  I am grateful for a loving God that is at work healing my sore heart and helping me to forgive and understand. My heart is encouraged knowing that mum loved each of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, as best she could. She loved being a mum. And I loved her.   Happy Mother’s Day Mum.