Dear colleagues and friends,

I was on a telehealth Zoom call with a client last Tuesday afternoon when she asked, “Dr. Amy, did you hear what happened today?” I had not, having been busy in meetings all day. She began recounting details she had heard so far. At that time, 17 children and 1 teacher were dead. We would later find out that 19 children and 2 teachers perished in a senseless, murderous act. This type of incident happens often to healthcare professionals – we learn of news from our patients or clients and find ourselves processing with them while reconciling the information ourselves. As I helped my college-aged client process her own grief and despair, I wondered, “Are my kids ok?” “Did they hear the news yet?” “Are they scared?” and then, “Dear God. Dead children. Again.”

I was in graduate school working at an Indianapolis Public School when the Columbine High School murders took place. The day after the incident, metal detectors were installed at the high school I was assigned to; but nothing could have prepared me or the children I worked with for the worry and confusion they faced. That was 1999. 23 years later, I watched the news as faces of 10 & 11 year-olds scrolled on the screen along with their teachers.

What did I do the rest of the afternoon? the only thing I know how. I continued to support my clients, one at a time, then a group of parents for our weekly parenting group. I didn’t have much time to process my own feelings, but when I did, I felt numb, helpless, sad and angry. I worked on a handout for parents and professionals to help them understand how to talk to children in the aftermath of violence. I re-posted the National Association of School Psychologists’ one page handout on responding to school violence. Again. How many time had I posted this? How many times have I talked with parents and professionals about developmentally appropriate ways to talk to children about unmentionable tragedies? Too many.

Wednesday, more clients processing trauma and trying to understand our world. Then, I taught an ECHO meeting for medical professionals. I offered to meet with them before and after our regular session, should they have questions about childhood trauma or ways to talk to parents, children, or take care of themselves. It was the only thing I could offer while feelings utterly helpless. I tried to remind them:

• Focus on purpose
• Find connection
• Limit media
• Eat. Drink. Rest.
• Know that your actions matter
• Validate all feelings

To be honest, not much during the past 2 and a half years has broken me. I truly feel that I’ve had the honor of helping many professionals process a completely unpredictable world of COVID in healthcare and various other organizations. I compassionately listen and find words to heal the compounding stressors related to it – murders, racism, fires, loss, elections – so many additive stressors that people were enduring ON TOP OF a global pandemic. Together, with so many professionals, we have tried to make sense of our world – listening, crying, compassionately caring, and simply being present for so much grief.

But Tuesday, something in me closed off and shut down. By Wednesday afternoon, I reached out to my husband after teaching. I realized that after more than 24 hours of pushing through a tragedy, trying to make sense of it so that others could make sense of it, I was utterly exhausted. In a tired voice, I said, “I’m not ok.” I forwarded my emails, closed my laptop, and went to bed at 2:30 in the afternoon. I slept for over an hour. My husband was home by 4 pm and sat in the sun on our patio with me and listened.

I cried for the moms and dads and families who would never see their children again.

I cried for the teachers who hovered over terrified children.

I cried for the dead children and I cried for the children who lost classmates, brothers, sisters and friends.

I cried for the first responders.

I cried for the first responders.

I cried for the hospital workers delivering horrible news.

I cried for the school staff triaging the chaos.

I cried.

And then, I did the only next thing I could do. I tried to take my own advice – I rested. I ordered take-out. I turned off the news. I answered my children’s questions. I talked with friends. And on Thursday, I did the next thing I could do: I continued to work on my book about childhood trauma, adversity and resilience. Because that gives me a sense of purpose. It’s the work I will continue to do – to help others understand how trauma affects children and what to do to strengthen children and families despite tragedy.

I hope you know if this week broke you, you’re not alone. Together, let’s take one next step. Not the right step, just that next step that feels ok to you. Tell someone if you’re overwhelmed. Ask for help. You’re not weak – you’re human. We’ve all had moments, especially. since the beginning of 2020, that have been unbearable.

But, when we’re connected and in a community, we are not alone. I share that so that you know that you’re not alone.

And in other news, not so small news I might add, I’m continuing on a path to purpose. With that, I’ll be launching a podcast this summer focused on ways to respond to trauma and build resilience in primary care. I hope you’ll join with me on this journey. More to come.

With Compassion,

Dr. Amy

Dear Colleagues and Friends,

I’m sitting around with a diverse group of parents, some of whom are friends and others are simple acquaintances. It’s a casual gathering on a Saturday night. The subject of spanking children comes up. Ugh. Every part of my body tenses. Do I get up and run away? Pretend I know nothing? Disagree vehemently and begin to spew out data? Simply sit and listen? Well, if you know me, you know that I rarely back out of conflict. Especially when it comes to children and potential abuse. But I also view myself as an open-minded, curious, and collaborative person within social groups. I actually enjoy conversations around politics and such – I know, I’m a rare breed.

I tried. I really did try to stay curious. When parents began saying things like, “He just needs a good spanking,” or “A belt would change her mind,” as they were describing children’s behavior and judging parents discipline styles, I listened without judgement. At first. As I began to ask curious questions like, “I wonder what else might work?” or “What lesson do you think the child would learn?” or “Yes, you might ‘be fine’ now as an adult, but what would you have been like if your parents handled your behavior in a different manner?”. Time after time I was ignored or dismissed. You see, when it comes to parenting, discipline, and kids, EVERYONE feels like an expert because they have their own lived experience. AND, because they’re in the process of doing the “job” of parenting. So, being “wrong” feels highly uncomfortable. Truth be told, every parent DOES have a lived experience. And I know there are parents within some marginalized groups that spank as a survival skill. I think that parents make choices because of culture, religion, experience, and societal norms. But this article isn’t about corporal punishment. Believe me, we could have an entire series dedicated to spanking and child-rearing – I mean, I can cut to the chase and tell you there’s NO EVIDENCE it’s beneficial to kids and LOTS OF EVIDENCE that it harms them. But, I would welcome the discussion.

Here’s my point – if you’re a professional and you KNOW your position is accurate, backed by science, and peer-reviewed articles. When you can feel in your bones that someone’s challenge of your opinion isn’t professional but personal. When you KNOW that perpetuating inaccurate information might actual cause harm or trigger someone else, it is OK to feel frustrated and hurt.

As professionals, knowledge, authority, skillset and our time are invaluable. My husband often jokes with me that I went to “the 24th grade”. It’s funny AND it’s true. And it’s true for all of you! When patients question your integrity, your knowledge, you skill set, your VALUE – you have the right to be upset, hurt, angry and confused. I refer to this as righteous indignation – the idea that you’re being undervalued, misinterpreted or seen with malice.

So, I would encourage you to process your feelings around anger and patient response. Sit with it. Be curious. Where is it coming from? What’s being triggered? Is there a way out of a way to talk about it with someone? Does the anger serve you? What’s behind the anger? Fear? Judgement? Confusion?

Allow yourself to be angry. You’d been through a great deal of professional challenges over the past two and half years – vaccines, staffing, and medical misinformation to name a few. Anger is part of grief. It’s understandable and there’s a place for it. And if you don’t acknowledge it – it will simmer below the surface until it’s acknowledged. Once you acknowledge the feeling, then you can do something about it. You don’t have to react with vehemence. You can choose to pause, then respond.

Me? I left the circle and went to hang out with my kids for a bit – I shifted the anger to the only thing I could control – my time in that moment. Others weren’t open for discussion, so I hung out with teenagers for a while. It filled my heart and the anger dissipated a bit.

In the meantime, I’m here to listen – got a story about righteous indignation? I’d love to hear it.

With compassion,

Dr. Amy

Dear colleagues and friends, 

It’s 8:56 a.m. I’m supposed to be logging into Zoom to host a nine a.m. meeting with dozens of professionals. Coffee sits next to me, ready for sipping as I begin my Monday morning. All of the sudden: Zoom. Zip. Clatter. My dogs run into my office to save me from a “threatening sound” that has alarmed them. Coffee spills everywhere, drips down my desk, pens and papers soaked. My laptop barely escapes the sticky, cream-filled start to my day as I yell at my dogs to leave my office. They look at me, wondering with their eyes why I’m not more grateful for intrusion. 

It’s 8:59. I have two choices – allow the coffee to continue to run all over my desk, smile at the camera and proceed. Pretend like nothing is happening. Ignore the chaos. Or, what I did: I started the zoom meeting, humbly requested another professional to begin morning greetings, and let people know what was happening. Many times since this shift to online learning/teaching/telehealth began, I’ve been faced with this decision – pretend this isn’t completely new and overwhelming at times, or simply offer some humanity with a dose of humility. I learned early on that folks appreciate the humanity. 

Sharing our humanity allows us to help others feel less alone. Sharing overwhelm and imperfections don’t make us less professional, it makes us human. It makes us relatable. When we show up professionally and allow others to feel seen by offering stories of mutual connection, it provides solace in an otherwise overly harsh space. 

The bonus: When we show up more authentically, it takes less energy than putting on airs of “having it all together.” And right now, with multiple stressors competing for our energy, we need as much reserves as possible. 

How can you show humanity and model imperfections today? In what way can you reassure a colleague? How might you show more authenticity and less perfection? Here are some ways to begin:

• I’m not quite myself today. Please give me some grace. 
• The last few weeks have been hard. I wonder if anyone else is feeling this way?
• You’re not quite yourself today, what’s up?
• I’ve been in a place where I’ve been overwhelmed too. Is that you today?
• Sometimes we just need a space to vent. I’m here for you. 
• Oh, that looked rough, wanna talk?
• I’m a mess about _____. 
• Today didn’t begin well for me. Anyone else?
• How do you really feel about being here? Me? Not so great. 
• Tell me more about what’s going on. I’m curious.
• I didn’t understand that the first time either. Let’s work on it together. 

Regardless of how you choose to offer yourself to another person, know that any act of compassion is appreciated. It will not go unnoticed. Until then, if you get a note or letter from me with sticky coffee rings, just know we’re battling these mornings together. 

How about you? Are you a morning coffee person? Tea? Kombucha? 

With compassion,

Dr. Amy

We interrupt the string of newsletters of late to talk about the importance of losing. Whether we call it losing or reframe it say “not meeting goals” or “not meeting expectations”, missing, failing or incomplete, suffice to say sometimes we just don’t get the job done. Let me offer this lesson via story.

In the spring and summer, about every other week between March and September, we travel to various parts of Oregon to participate in rodeo events with our son. He ropes calves off of a fast-moving horse. So we have 5-hour drives. 3-hour drives. 6-hour drives – ONE WAY. With a horse, no less! And his average performance time? 20-30 seconds. This happens about twice a day for 2-3 days. That’s right – if you’re doing the math, that’s 90 seconds per event, all weekend. And this isn’t football, friends. He doesn’t have a 50/50 chance of winning. There’s a very strong chance he could miss his catch. And our first two high school rodeos – NADA. No catch. No placement. No points. So, what lesson do we take away? What do you tell your kids when they don’t place? When they lose? When there’s no ribbon (or buckle in our case)? No points?

Well, we tell our kids, “Sometimes you win and sometimes you learn.” The greatest lessons come from losing. We can problem solve development, have a thirst for improvement and gain insight into performance. And at the end of the day, the MOST important factor for ALL of us – parents and kids? We show up. We are there for our kids and they show up for their sport and their team (or horse!). And showing up matters.

There are other takeaways too. Is Jack bummed when he misses? Of course. Is he hard on himself? Yes. Sometimes, he struggles in finding the lesson and has to work on harder skills like accountability and self-reflection. Skills that are harder to find if you always win. He has to work on thanking his trainers, feeding his horse, and showing gratitude to us for sacrificing weekends away as a family. AND – those are ALL life skills.

So, never doubt that losing equates to growth. Allow your kids to stumble. To fail. To wonder why they didn’t take home the trophy. Because when they win, it will feel so much more deserved.

Pro-tip: Tell your kids what you like about watching them compete, regardless of whether they win or lose. This builds skills of confidence and competence that keys to resilience. Here are some starting scripts:

• Hey Jack, you’re amazing with your horse.
• You always show up for your teammates.
• I know you’re disappointed, but you showed humility and respect.
• In our family, we value learning as much as winning.

On a personal note, I was really bummed when my provider retreat scheduled for this spring did not fill to capacity. It has to be rescheduled. So, I’m looking for lessons, bright spots, self-reflection, and self-forgiveness. If you’re a provider and you’d like to save a spot for this fall’s retreat, let me know by sending me an email! If you are a registered attendee, don’t worry, my team and I will be touching base with you soon.

Otherwise, maybe I’ll see you at a rodeo this summer! Yeehaw!

https://www.stpaulrodeo.com/
https://www.nwyra.net/

With compassion,

Dr. Amy

Wow – the number of companies hiring wellness coordinators, Chief People Officers, and community wellbeing advisors & coaches portrays the great need in our communities for addressing multiple layers of overwhelm in the workspace. We are TIRED.

So, I’m making today’s blog short and sweet by asking you one question…

What is the cure to overwhelm? 

John Kabat-Zinn says that overwhelm is the state we’re in when our lives are unfolding faster than our nervous system or psyche can manage. Sound familiar? At the beginning of the pandemic, overwhelm manifested as:

• Fear of the unknown
• Shifting to telemedicine
• Pandemic-related illness and death
• Tireless demands for answers
• Distance learning with our kids
• Exhaustion

And now manifests as:

• Medical misinformation
• Vaccine hesitancy
• Unknown variants and the future of the pandemic
• Staffing shortages
• Moral distress
• Unmet mental health needs

The cure to overwhelm? John Kabat-Zinn says you have two choices:

Nothing. Or Play.

Nothing is a wise choice when your “life is unfolding faster than you can manage,” in fact, it may be the only choice. Doing nothing may be for a moment, an hour, half a day or longer. We need to give our brain and our body a chance to catch up with the event that is occurring.

Play – we’re the only mammals who miss opportunities to play. Play might be dance, laughter, joking, active play (throwing a ball, playing a sport, rolling around) or more passive play (cards, games, cuddles). Play says to our nervous system – “You’re OK, it’s safe now.”

So, if you’re in a state of overwhelm, try one of these. And I’m going to offer you a third option.

Connect. 

Once we feel in community with another person, overwhelm is lessened and safety is restored. Once one other person says, “I see you,” or “I’ve got you,” or “Me too, you’re not alone,” it’s as if the world suddenly feels less gigantic and lonely.

Nothing.
Play.
Connect.

Try one. Let me know what works best for you when you’re in a state of overwhelm.

In the meantime, I’d love for you to connect with me and your colleagues at our spring retreat – we’ll be in community and it is soul-filling goodness! 

With Compassion,

Dr. Amy

A Short Story

The other night, during the middle of spring break, in what I thought portrayed a wonderful pause from school and other obligations, I found my daughter tearful. Central Oregon was our backdrop, a beautiful rented home, and lots to do. But sadness engulfed her. I placed a hand on her shoulder and sat closely as she tearfully said, “I miss my friends.” Then she felt bad and tried to reassure me saying, “I love our trip and visiting schools, I just miss my friends too.” As we spoke, what unfolded was an admission of secondary stress due to COVID and distance learning over the past two years. With the ups and downs of school closures, response to new strains of the virus, and mask mandates, weariness felt tangible and potential loss felt heavy. She had only begun to enjoy seeing friends regularly again, going to games and immersing herself in the buzz of high school. Being without her friends felt full of angst and sadness. I could have minimized her feelings by saying, “you’ll see them again next week,” but I understood that we’ve made lots of promises over the past two and half years without a lot of reliability. So, instead, I said, “I understand. I have no idea what high school must feel like with big chunks of time without social connection that feels meaningful.” And I really did understand – we have all experienced a loss of connection.

Part of trauma-informed work means sitting with stories. Listening with the intent of caring and holding space versus fixing or solving. Creating safe environments for people to feel they can share worry, abuse, or concern without becoming further traumatized. Then, restoring a felt sense of safety and building resilience with them. Through choice, through empowerment, and through a strength-based lens, these stressors can be alleviated. Whether we’re talking about one person’s acute stress or another’s historical trauma, listening to stories changes everything. Once someone feels less alone, the process of validation opens up a different kind of dialogue.

Last fall, at my provider retreat, we did just that. We sat with each other’s stories and created a holding space to process trauma that all providers have experienced. The only way to create space for others is to do so for ourselves. The looks of compassion, shared experience, validation, and outpouring of love were palpable. I truly believe it was the first time in months that these providers felt cared for by someone else.

I hope you join us this spring. We’ll share 3 days of trauma-informed work, building resilience and having time to restore ourselves.

In the meantime, here’s your homework. Over the next week, when you listen to someone’s story, lean in, and listen solely for the purpose of caring and providing a holding space. Set aside problem-solving and solutions. Maybe even say, “tell me more” or “what else?” and see what happens. I’d love to hear how it goes.

And then, give yourself some love and join me in wine country for 3 days that will transform your practice.

With compassion,

Dr. Amy

 

Hello friends,

I hope this message finds you well. And I hope I’m going to see you tomorrow night at our free workshop: Am I doing enough? Addressing Moral Distress Amongst Providers.

Moral Distress & Poetry

Did you know that April is national poetry month? This might not seem related to moral distress, but hang in there with me. When my daughter & son were in grade school, they were introduced to a new concept: Poem in Your Back Pocket during the month of April. They were encouraged to carry an inspirational poem around that their back pocket to share with other peers. They delighted at being stopped in the hallway and asked to share a poem with a friend. One child would pull a wrinkled piece of paper from his/her back pocket and proudly share words of inspiration. Giggles, smiles, hugs, and encouragement were abound. Some children kept the same poem in their back pocket all month, while others happily changed the script daily. It brought them joy.

On Wednesday night, we’ll talk about the importance of joy, but I thought I would share how this practice inspired me. After watching these children practice carrying a poem with them for a month, I quickly recognized the benefit of such a practice. Carrying something around with you that’s inspiring, well-rehearsed, and reliable creates a practice. Perhaps, you already have something like this? A picture of your children that you carry with you? A favorite saying or prayer card? A coin, token or words of encouragement? Often, when I work with providers or patients, I encourage them to have a script in their back pocket. Similar to a poem, it’s a go-to way of talking with patients, practicing a mantra, or practicing self-compassion. Often, with providers, they’ll ask me for a script on how to talk with patients about a particular topic (depression, sex, resilience, for example) so they have a reliable way of discussing something difficult or new. After a while, they develop their own way of discussing the topic and create their own script.

I thought I would share a script with you that might feel helpful, specifically related to moral distress and ways we can begin to provide ourselves with compassion. And, because we are entering the month of April, I thought I’d share a poem from my back pocket.

 

A Script for You

I can do many things. I can do anything, in fact. But I CAN NOT do everything. When I try to do everything, I am setting myself up for frustration and overwhelm. So, for today, I will focus my attention on what I CAN DO and not what I SHOULD DO. I am worthy of self-compassion. 

 

A Poem for You

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive!

It doesn’t interest me what “planets are squaring your moon”. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals — or, have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to “hide it” or “fade it” or “fix it”.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes! — without cautioning us to “be careful”, “be realistic”, or to “remember the limitations of being human”.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another — to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful, and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God’s presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone — and do what needs to be done — for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me — and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or “with whom you have studied”. I want to know what sustains you — from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep – in the empty moments.

~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Next steps

Friends, I hope you join me this week – even if you cannot come to the virtual event live, we will send you the recording if you’re signed up for this free workshop. It will be educational, inspirational, and healing within community. We could all use more community right now.

With gratitude,

Dr. Amy

I don’t know about you, but fatigue is real.

As if there wasn’t enough to overwhelm us, it seems like the collective world stress is unrelenting. Are you tired? What kind of tired?

Emotional/Mental exhaustion – feeling “all the feels” and absorbing pain. Emotional exhaustion occurs when we experience fatigue from being emotionally overloaded. Our pain, others’ pain, and collective pain all combine to create an overwhelming feeling of tiredness that has accumulated. Feeling worn out and drained from the totality of emotions.

Here are signs of emotional exhaustion from The Mayo Clinic:

 

Emotional symptoms include:

• Anxiety
• Apathy
• Depression
• Feeling hopeless
• Feeling powerless or trapped
• Irritability
• Lack of motivation
• Nervousness
• Tearfulness

 

Physical symptoms include:

• Fatigue
• Headaches
• Lack of appetite
• Sore muscles or muscle tension

 

Performance symptoms include:

• Failing to meet deadlines
• Lower workplace commitment
• More absences
• Performing work duties more slowly

 

Physical exhaustion – our body’s perception of fatigue. Our body feels physically exhausted when the cumulative fatigue and persistent tiredness catches up with us. The physical sensation that our body functioning is compromised.

Here are signs of physical exhaustion from Better Health:

 

Symptoms include: 

• Chronic tiredness or sleepiness
• Headache
• Dizziness
• Sore or aching muscles
• Muscle weakness
• Slowed reflexes and responses
• Impaired decision-making and judgment
• Moodiness, such as irritability
• Impaired hand-to-eye coordination
• Appetite loss
• Reduced immune system function
• Blurry vision
• Short-term memory problems
• Poor concentration
• Hallucinations
• Reduced ability to pay attention to the situation at hand
• Low motivation.

 

Values Disconnect Exhaustion – A third type of exhaustion that many providers are experiencing is called “values” exhaustion. Kamal Sarma describes this type of exhaustion, “values disconnect exhaustion,” as more subtle and insidious than other forms of deep tiredness. Values disconnect occurs when a person has to compromise their own character and beliefs in order to meet the expectations placed on them. Over the past two years, there are few other professionals that have been impacted as greatly by values disconnect exhaustion than providers. Moral distress exemplifies values disconnect exhaustion (oh, if you want to learn more about this, sign-up for next week’s free workshop for medical providers!).

 

Symptoms of Values Disconnect Exhaustion:

• Lack of purpose
• Feeling disconnected and detached
• Uncomfortable
• Covering or masking feelings
• Pretending to be well

Regardless of whether you’re physically exhausted, mentally/emotionally exhausted, or disconnected from values (or a combination of several), the first step is to recognize what’s happening in your body. Because the last two years have created constant demands, pressure, and isolation, we often overlook symptoms of fatigue because we become accustomed to overwhelm. We have consistently felt like we “can’t go on” only to be pressed into continuing for days, weeks, and months more than we should endure.

The second step is to figure out how to rest. In our westernized view of rest, we hold a myopic view: rest equals sleep. But sleep is not the only way to rest. In fact, our bodies and minds require different forms of rest. And morally, we need rest as well. For a great reflection on rest, watch this Ted Talk: https://youtu.be/ZGNN4EPJzGk

I want you to begin to ask yourself – what kind of fatigue am I experiencing and what type of rest is my body asking of me?

Tell me. I’d like to hear what you’re experiencing and what’s helping.

 

-Dr. Amy

Hello friends and colleagues,

I was recently doing some deep introspection about “being cared for” as I continue to research and create ideas around ways to respond to moral distress for providers. If you already know this is you or a colleague you love, please sign up for my free workshop at the end of the month here. Moral distress lies in a gap between what someone feels like he/she should do and what resources or capacities are allowed or available. Recent examples I have heard from providers include knowing that patients need routine tests that are preventative in nature, but feeling powerless as those get pushed off to treat acute COVID patients. Or, a critical care nurse that grieved the chasm between wanting a family member to be with a patient who was dying and hospital policy around visitors. Those gaps create space where distress grows.

In a moment of my own distress recently, a wise mentor asked me a question. She said, “Can you remember a time that you felt cared for even when you were going through something really hard? A time when your only job was to receive care during or after a tumultuous time?” I thought hard. As helpers in healthcare, selflessness is prized. Being compassionate, serving others, endless extension of empathic healing, and sympathetic listening abounds. But after two years (not to mention how many providers were already on the brink of burnout BEFORE this pandemic) we are TIRED. And regarding moral distress, we are tired of sacrificing what we know to be right for patients and for ourselves. But I dug deep and this is what I remembered:

I used to run half marathons frequently and I have run one full marathon. Never again, to be clear. I’m just sayin’ that if you’re a marathon runner, wow. But I do LOVE half marathons. If you haven’t read the newsletter about finding your pacesetter, please get caught up! For so many of us, this pandemic has felt like an endless marathon. An ultra-marathon. We keep telling ourselves and reminding ourselves that this is a long haul. But two years? And now entering the third? I mean, this is NOT over – but I’m preaching to the choir and I digress…

At the end of half and full marathons (as well as other endurance races) there are angels. I don’t know what else to call them. These angels are incredible people, usually volunteers, and their ONLY job is to take care of runners as they cross the finish line. Imagine this: You pour out sweat, preparation, feelings, grit and run as your legs that you’ve been training on swiftly (or barely) cross the finish line. And this angel comes with a foil/mylar blanket and wraps it around you. Then she ushers you over to a small stool where all you have to do is lift your leg slightly and she takes your race chip off of your shoe. The angel, arm still around you to make sure your blanket stays on so your body can retain its heat, then ushers you to the next angel. This angel puts a medal around your neck and points you to an angel station. The angel station is full of helpers whose only job is to give you orange slices, Gatorade, and other foods to replace your expended energy. There are pictures, balloon arches, massage tables and celebration abounds. After hours of running, these angels’ sole purpose is your care and safety. Imagine that.

When was the last time you felt this? If you’re like me, you had to really dig deep. Do you have a memory of being taken care of so tenderly? The reason I’m asking is important. If we can access these memories, it reminds our bodies of the importance of being cared for in a selfless way. We do it so often for others, but not often for ourselves. 

When was the last time YOUR ONLY JOB was to receive care (or tenderness or compassion or strength or love) from another person? Or from yourself? Where do you find it?

• • • On a run?
    • Stretching during yoga?
    • In a synagogue or mosque or church?
    • Lying on a massage table?
    • Getting a foot rub?
    • Holding yourself as you cry in the shower?
    • With your dog or cat?
    • Singing with your bestie?
    • Driving on a back road with your partner?
    • Receiving a gift or card?
    • Laughing?
    • Allowing someone to make you a meal?
    • Receiving a hug?

 

Tell me – I want to know. Where are you building muscle memory for self-compassion, when your job or someone else’s job is only tending to you? Write back and let me know a space of solace for you. Your words & actions just might help someone else.

And if you haven’t yet, please join me and your colleagues on March 30th for a FREE workshop, just for you, on moral distress.

With kindness,

Dr. Amy

Hello Colleagues,

I write this with a heavy heart and am inspired by the critical work that needs to be done.

I spoke with a provider recently who has lost six patients – SIX – in the past several months. Another I work with is still having panic attacks before going into the clinic, almost every morning. Yet another is debating whether or not she can stay in this field much longer without SERIOUS changes to her schedule to protect her mind and body. 

So many of you have reached out to me & and my team for the support over the last two-plus years. Support has looked like organizational support, clinic-specific support, provider support, team support, and support for resources and connection. Thank you for trusting me.

There is ONE

aspect all of this support has in common. Connection. Connection to each other and connection within teams and connection with me and connect with your colleagues and support systems – I could go on. Connection decreases isolation. Connection increases validation. The connection provides support. Connection feels like love. Connection splits the divide.

So, as we continue to come to terms with loss, overwhelm, and the continual need to constantly adapt, I want to continue to offer a community of connection.

Register TODAY for my upcoming FREE workshop on moral distress for providers!

 

Providers are accustomed to difficulty, to long hours, heavy responsibility & high stress. Death and dying, life-altering decisions, and uncertainty have been part of the territory for as long as there have been healers. But…simply acknowledging this does not resolve the conflicts created by responsibility without autonomy. Enter moral distress. ~ Sheather, 2021

Moral distress for providers is at an all-time high due to all of the factors I listed above. But there is a way to address it and ameliorate the distress. The first is to gather. So, join me in three weeks to discuss this crucial topic and feel less alone as we navigate together.

With compassion,

Dr. Amy