Work-Induced Dysphoria

Burnout doesn't even begin to capture the state I am in. "Burnout" is over-used and sometime amidst a global pandemic and national outrage about...everything - the word "burnout" lost its depth and weight. Burnout has burned out. We need a new phrase to capture this place we drift off to after too many weeks of aggravation at work, too many micro-digs in our personal lives that go un-resolved, too many bills that must be paid before we can splurge, too many lost opportunities for self-care, and too many god damn reminders about what the rest of the world is doing - faster than us, smarter than us - all while looking better than us. And so i find myself at the end of that road and I am partly-humored by my irritation, partly-disturbed by my ugliness. Mostly i am feeling flat and emotionally vacant by all of it - with small glimpses of comedy etched in between. 

Today someone was waiting to be seen and i almost said "no i don't see anyone by the name of Benjamin...part of my practice policy" because i'm over it. sometimes the complaints i get are so asinine i want to print them out and frame them. maybe compile it into a book called "Office Space for the Modern Era". one day at work we discussed for 90 minutes whether or not we should allow office staff to wear t-shirts on Fridays. I got paid to be at work that day. and the homeless population is rising and access to good medical care is declining. [insert debbie downer meme]

So yea there are moments I think really offensive things in my head. and I wonder if I should not be in this profession - since I'm supposed to be all warm and fuzzy (at least that's what my research on google tells me). Why can't I throw truth bombs? I filter myself so much that by the end of a long day I fumble through my words trying to string a sentence together. 

My morning starts with scrolling through a series of redundant emails of people asking/saying the same damn thing without an actual conclusion of any kind. A few emails that have me robotically hitting "click, send, redo".  Then my first appointment shows up. They tell me "i got a lot going on , a lot of situations, a lot of trauma. can you give me something for that?" They want me to offer them a solution for all of their pain/suffering, that has accumulated over the last 30+ years of their lives - with no concern for the actions they took, the decisions they made, the behaviors they need to change - all the pressure is on ME. I need to give them something to fix/undo the chaos in their lives and I need to do that in the next 15 minutes. Go! I'm typing away - documenting what i can however fast I can. I glance over and they are scrolling through TikTok on their brand new smartphone. i pause my typing, start inadvertently staring hard at them - wondering if they will even notice that I have stopped typing (and stopped researching for that wonder drug they so desperately asked for 5 minutes ago). A few red flags come up - i ask, in the most non-confrontational way i can - "... the crack cocaine and marijuana...." - before I can finish, they cut me off and say: "no it's not the weed or the crack. the weed is what helps keep me calm, and i don't know why crack was in my system cuz i don't do it." ---- back to tiktok ----

i spend the next two minutes feeling frozen, flat, confused, irritated. Those feelings morph into an existential hopelessness and then I hear myself say "how about a sleep aid" - and they take it and they go away for a few months and then the same thing happens another 12 times. and then i close up shop and I go home, trying hard not to ponder too deeply into the meaning of my work.

T.G.I.F and Thank God there is a new real housewives episode this Sunday and thank god my teeth whitening kit is in the mail. thank god california closets will be here next week (so what if customized closets are my own version of a wonder drug). thank god i have a date night with my husband tonight. thank god our next trip to Coopers Beach is just a few fortnights away!

Don't forget to be grateful my spiritual gremlins, hallelujah and godspeed,

ElyVas

Heaviest Baggage at Baggage Claim

Driving down Meadow lane, eerily quiet, the love was noticeably absent. Nick was dropping me off at the helipad where I was meeting my ex-boyfriend Will (of all people) who was taking me back to the city. In the car ride over - I could've died of heartache and grief. There was tension and sadness. so much sadness. Our relationship was coming to a close and we both knew it. The trust was lost between us. He had sworn up and down, he had sworn on his mother's grave, he had sworn on our future children that he wasn't seeing her anymore. But a woman's intuition is nothing to take lightly. I felt it in my bones, I knew in my gut he was lying. I wished so badly I was wrong. I turned a blind eye, i lived in denial for a few months, I didn't want to know the truth. Looking back now at last Fall, during my period of forced ignorance - I realize I was drinking heavily. Unconsciously I was trying to silence my inner voice - I didn't want to hear my conscience. So I drank, i shopped, i starved myself - I leaned back on all those neurotic coping mechanisms that handicapped me years ago...

But today there was no way to escape the reality. Nick had been unfaithful, over and over again. He had lied to me, over and over again. There was no turning back. This other woman was nothing like me - which crushed me more than anything. Did he ever even love me? Were the last 6 years all a lie? He told me she didn't mean anything. He promised he was done with her. But then I inadvertently found emails between them - as recently as last night. Last night when Nick and I were fighting. Last night when Nick and I were laying in the same bed, going to bed angry - something we promised each other we would never do. Last night he was emailing her that he missed her. Finding those emails was like getting the wind knocked out of me - i couldn't get any air in, it's like i forgot how to breathe. the shock was devastating, the emotion in those emails was palpable. He was making promises to her that I was still waiting for - that I had been patiently (and at times impatiently) waiting for... Nothing can describe what that betrayal feels like. He had proposed to me two nights ago. and yesterday a conversation about our wedding date and our future kids led to an explosive argument that had me wondering if he even meant to propose to me - the whole thing felt impulsive - like he hadn't put much thought into it but was tired of hearing people ask when we would take the next step. Looking back I think it was half-hearted. 

Suddenly I remember one of Pema Chödrön's quotes from When Things Fall Apart: 

Most of us do not take these difficult situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape — all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge and we just can’t stand it. We feel we have to soften it, pad it with something, and we become addicted to whatever it is that seems to ease the pain.

Nothing about this situation feels educational. It simply triggers every insecurity, every fear, every abandonment I have suppressed for the last 3 decades. No I haven't worked on myself. No I haven't done therapy to process my father cheating on my mother for 20+ years; no i have not worked on the rage and anger I have at my father for letting me think infidelity is acceptable. Two years ago when he was dying - and the only women there to take care of him were my mother and me - he begged us for forgiveness. With tears running down his sunken eyes, down his pale skin - he told us the pain he caused us was unforgivable but begged us to consider it....It was catharsis for my mother - and for that I am eternally grateful.     However, it was also right after I had forgiven Nick for the second time for being unfaithful. When Nick told me he had (again) been with another woman - I had reflected on my parents' marriage and reconsidered my anger towards him - I thought: "if my dad could do that to my mom... and she never left...then maybe I should be okay with this..." Against my better judgment I used my father as a standard for what I would be willing to accept. I told myself it was okay and i went back to him. i let my guard down and without realizing it - I had fallen in love with Nick.

Now Nick was driving me to my ex. My ex boyfriend is so much more than that. He is my rock. He is there in these excruciating moments when nothing makes sense. Over the last 10 years Will and I have been in-and-out of each other's lives. Even after the ugliest of fights he always calls the next day to check in on me. Will is married now. and I cannot stomach that truth. I messed up, I let the best guy get away. and I feel like I will never be able to forgive myself for that. When I decided to end things it was out of respect for Will that I did so - I was spiraling in my addictions and I needed help. He was applying to grad schools at the time and getting ready for his summer internship in the UK. I was "applying" to rehabs and choosing between the different recovery houses i would "summer" at after graduating from rehab. The whole thing was embarrassing. I wasn't going to hold him back - I loved him. I still love him. When I got home from rehab that summer - Will called me every single day, sent me hand-written letters with uplifting quotes and promises of loving me forever, no matter what. But at the end of that summer, when he returned home to Long Island - when we went to dinner together, something felt different. We were worlds apart in our next steps. I saw some photos from his time abroad and I saw the joy in his eyes, I saw the other women in the internship - they all looked so carefree, so youthful, so unburdened. I felt like the heaviest baggage at baggage claim. I had put some (much-needed) weight on in rehab but it hadn't yet settled in my new body so I had that strange look of a skinny young person with love-handles and chubby pockets of fat all around. Will deserved a woman with fewer scars, with a history that didn't weigh their future down...so despite what my heart was screaming - I politely and amicably ended things with Will. He went on to meet his wife in grad school, and I went on to relapse a couple more times while finishing a few bullshit internships. Then I met Nick...at a rooftop bar in the city. during one of my relapses. We attended Will's wedding 3 years ago. The night before Will and Amanda's wedding - I found out Nick had cheated on me. the wedding is a blur in my mind - i sat there in tears realizing the mistake i had made. I nearly jumped in the middle of their vows - asking Will to reconsider. The whole night Will and I exchanged knowing looks - was he feeling it too? was he thinking he had made a mistake? He was too much of a gentleman to actually say - or perhaps he really loved her. 

To be continued...

xoxo

Ely's GuestWriter

Grace Under Pressure

Can't decide what to title this post. i've been avoiding writing this. i don't want to put it down because then it will be real. something is going on inside me...feels familiar yet foreign. that weight of life. this curtain coming down, distancing me from the world around me. disconnecting me. is it a mood problem? it feels darker than that. heavier than that. is it a spiritual malaise? i think so. but it feels even more than that. 

reaching out to hold my son, his smile warms me up, makes my heart beat softer. lean over and kiss my husband, his love awakens me, his strength sustains me, how did i get so lucky? it's this very question that has kept me from wanting to write this. i'm craving an escape from this physical/mental/emotional unrest inside of me. I'm looking for an out. and the reality of that disappoints me immensely. after everything i have been through, the absolute HELL i lived through, somehow survived through, after the spiritual awakening that carried me into a new way of life - and yet here I am, feeling uneasy for a few days and jumping into the fantasy of what a drink or drug can do for me. Need a RESET button for all of my champagne problems...is that nails on a chalkboard or is that the sound of a whining privileged entitled woman who needs a reality check... 

The first time my husband shared the concept of "being good at all of it..." with me it was the summer of 2019 and I was experiencing a very real, very difficult situation. It tested my inner strength, it made me question my faith, had me doubting every truth i thought i lived by...my reality was getting distorted, my resilience was waning. and i shared with my husband that i was having waves of hopelessness, wondering if i should just jump in front of a train because what was the point of it all...it was then that my husband shared a very powerful perspective with me. He asked me if i knew what sets the winner of a race apart from the second place finisher. I shook my head "no...they're just better i guess?" and he said "how are they better? both are the best at what they do...but one is better at "being good at all of it"...”

What is "all of it"? It is the planning that goes into race day. it is getting to the city a few days early... it is driving to the venue the day before. it is knowing what you will have for dinner the night before. It’s practicing in your race day outfit. it’s guarding your psychic space as sacred ground, protecting it against any outside noise. It’s meditating between heats...minimizing the distractions. It’s being at the starting line early. and finally, the most important piece: it is knowing how to "rest inside the work,”  cultivating equanimity, accessing grace under pressure...better than the other guy. thats what sets the winner apart. The difference between the very best and all of the rest.

Something about how my husband laid it out for me struck a nerve. it resonated. it made a lot of sense. damn. that summer I had increasing professional obligations, more leadership responsibilities, an exam to prepare for,  a non-profit to grow....when i saw it that way, i realized there was no space left for self-doubt, outside noise, and non-supporters. I suddenly had more clarity around my future. The sadness, the hopelessness, the desperation for relief...it all disappeared. I started resting inside of the work.

So now whenever I fall into a "state" and have a string of days that weaken my resolve, destabilize my sense of self and I get distracted from my purpose...i remember what my husband asked me....”what’s the difference between 1st and 2nd place…” I remember I have to be good at all of it. 

With loving kindness,

ElyVas

One Day at a Time

The inspiration and creativity are lacking this week. The drama however is in full force. It wouldn't be a proper week in this drama-queen's life without this heavy dose of summer-drama. Do things just happen in bigger waves in the summer months because every one is on fire from this heat? or the Canadian wildfires are impairing our common senses? How do they expect me to work this week after everything I have just gone through. I need about 3 weeks just to process these moments. this will be a costly month in the "self-help" department - gotta get my shrink on the line, my therapist, my ex-boyfriend, my stylist, my skin care specialist... 

One Day At A Time. my husband keeps reminding me. So what happened, exactly? ... 

It all started with a well-known celebrity's kid having a mini temper tantrum, that only the very entitled, very privileged know how to have. Why this is even relevant to my life is because this kid showed up unannounced (read: without notice) and set up shop at his daddy's house...the house we were scheduled to stay at for the week we were in town. This was a business trip (leisure came second). 

The night before we were planning to come up - we were informed that this celebrity-spawn just got into town with his staff and had no plans of leaving. A call to his daddy-dearest proved fruitless because he used the classic line "i paid a lot of money for that house, figure it out!"

But one day at a time, right?

So in total panic and crisis-mode, we went through the rolodex. paging doctor 1-800-realtor 9-1-1. we need housing asap. and the housing must accommodate one married couple, one au pair, one mother's helper, one toddler who is the work of 37 toddlers, and all of the toddler's luggage. we each need our own bathroom. and the primary suite has to be away from the toddler's room. and it has to be new construction, south of the highway. an office facing east. There were more criteria that had to be met but you get the point. This was not a simple situation....and the clock was ticking. and my mind was racing. and then my throat started feeling sore. of course that is exactly what i needed during this chaos.

i cant even get into the details of how it happened but someone who sails with someone my husband knows graciously gave us their home for however many days we needed it. my husband solves all my problems and i love that. Will continue to update as this week unfolds and the drama implodes...

xoxo

elyvas

Behind the Hedges

In the land of private privilege, quiet luxury, well-resourced convenience, pedigreed names, old-money casual with a new-world accessibility- I found myself behind the hedges. Walking on Main street in a pair of distressed jeans and Chanel espadrilles, I caught a glimpse of my reflection as I zipped up my Celine nano, blinded by the white diamonds and pink sapphires shining on my left ring finger, courtesy of the man who made me a wife and gave me our son. Who was that woman looking back at me: so effortlessly chic with her hair up in a messy bun leading what looked to be a perfectly manicured life? Was that me? Yes it was. It was the present-day me. What a stark contrast to the last time my own reflection made me stop in my footsteps - i remember that day too vividly, but that is for another post, another story.

Ten years ago I was numbing the pain of a devastating heartbreak. I was unraveling into my addictions. Pills for breakfast, liquid lunches, lonely dinners - falling into the arms of strangers with desperation I don't care to recall. What a difference ten years can make. Today I am walking into 64 Main Street to pick up a custom-made outfit designed by Jonathan Simkhai for the annual fireworks celebration at 1030 Meadow Lane.

Eight years ago I was learning how to have my feelings without spiking them with toxic artificial sweeteners like Xanax and vodka. It was a new way of being for me. I couldn't remember the last time I felt my emotions, raw. I only remember running from them in search of a bandaid like food, exercise, pills, men, shopping, achievement, starvation, approval.....anything that would make the bleeding stop quickly....anything that would keep me from seeing the blood drip slowly...anything that would just make me stop feeling.  Newly sober and unemployed, back living with my parents, still reeling from my heartbreak - you could say I was going nowhere fast. 

Tonight I'm lounging outside by the pool. I look around the property, with the 20-feet tall well-clipped hedgerows of privet maintaining our family's privacy. My husband getting ready to jump into the pool to cool off after his workout. Our son is running around the perfectly hydrated yard, laughing each time the automatic sprinklers get him wet. He is joyful, he is blissful, he is God's grace, he is perfection. This is the life we were blessed to create. This is the life I prayed for.

Five years ago John asked me to marry him. He gave me the emotional security I longed for - the safety I was searching for. His love was stable, his love was lasting. Deep down I knew this, I felt this. But I struggled with the conflict between the person my family expected me to be and the person I actually was. Reconciling the simple truth with the contrived expectations ate me up. I was so much more than the "forced ideals" my parents set out for me. The centuries old archaic infrastructure of how I should feel, who I should love, where I should live, when I should speak - drowning me in shame - I couldn't be that formulaic. I tried my best, nearly losing my life in the effort to fit that mold. In my truth - I was freer, more loving, more compassionate, more open. As my husband says - don't be afraid to play big in the world. I didn't want to be afraid any more. 

Last month we celebrated our eight-year anniversary of the day we met. Something felt different that afternoon on the summer solstice... as the sun shined high and my heart felt less heavy. What was that feeling? that levity, that foundational stability, that deep connection...it was God doing for me what i couldn't do for myself. This moment feels equally profound - as we pack up our things with comfortable ease, no rush, no urgency. this feels natural. this life of playing big, being bold, full of gratitude while maintaining the quietness of humility...we have arrived, we are home.

from behind the hedges - xoxo,

ElyVas