Rejection is redirection; I will MAKE it so.

The day after Passover I started a new job.

I was ecstatic about it, though super wary. My previous job had lasted four months, and aside from my amazing coworkers, had been toxic for me. As has happened previously in my life, I got lucky - they did me a favor and broke up with me. They fired me with literally no good reason.

But from the moment that I received the notice of hearing (how it works here in Israel), I decided to make a change in my life and focus on my improvement.

I immediately signed up for classes on Coursera, started taking lessons on social media, marketing, and confidence on Linkedin, and chose a multiple of podcasts, one of which I have really connected with (20 Minutes with Bronwyn). I focused on Linkedin (more than any other social media) and followed the positive outlook posts and adopted my mantra: "rejection is redirection." 

It wasn't easy. Especially with my depression, anxiety, sleep issues, and four children under eight years old. I even had a day where I absolutely lost my sh*t, had an anxiety/anger attack, and had to hide myself in my room for the rest of the day (and medicate myself).

But I stuck to it, listened to my podcast almost daily, ignored the little voices in my head that tried to put me down, and landed an interview with a reputable company (in the same city). I walked into their office and felt an undercurrent of... calmness. 

I sat with the CEO and he was a soft-spoken leader. I liked him, his approach, and his demeanor. So I took a second interview over Chol HaMoed Passover and was hired that day, a mere week and a half after I was fired by the toxic company.

It took at least a month for me to get used to the calm work environment. To get used to the fact that mistakes are a part of learning and refining your skills. To not fear for my job every time my content manager or CEO called.

And about four weeks after I started my new job, my father's health drastically and rapidly deteriorated. I didn't automatically book a ticket, but instead went in on Sunday to help with production of a podcast. Upon sitting with me, the CEO -without question or hesitation- told me to book my ticket home. So I did.

And my father passed away on my flight home.

The CEO, my content manager, and everyone at the office were incredibly kind. They told me not to worry and they took care of everything while I was gone, while I attended the funeral, while I sat shiva for a week, while I flew back through two layovers, while I recovered over the weekend.

And the CEO sent me constant messages of strength and support and heart. It was unexpected, but reiterated the feeling of family and community that he had told me about at the very first interview. 

I am pleased to see that there still are some people who consider their word as their bond (thank you, Amir).

It was very unlike my last shiva experience (for my beloved mother nine years ago) where I was fired, via email, while I sat in my brother's house (I've had some pretty traumatic work situations).

To get through everything, I have relied upon the base I created eight weeks ago. The base that focuses on my internal strengths, my spirit, my capabilities, and the future. I feel a veneer of calm I never used to have.

I'm not saying that I don't have outbursts of anger. I'm not saying that I don't have anxiety or episodes of depression where I don't want to get out of bed or randomly start crying (like now).

But I'm better than I used to be, and the veneer is thickening. Maybe others don't see it yet, but I do.

I'm a lot more confident at work and in myself. And I am using this as a springboard for everything else: now is my time to work on myself physically (again), on learning how to be better organized (and to pass these skills on to my children), and learn. Just keep learning.

It'll come.

And as I now use as a mantra when calming my two year old...

"It's okay. All is well."

An Adult's Anger - A Kid's Perspective

In life, you go through experiences alone. Honestly and brutally. 

Even if someone is by your side, they're not inside your brain, your feelings, your heart. They don't feel the pain you do. They don't feel your anxiety and fury and sadness from the inside out; they do, however, ride the rocky ocean the wave of emotions is creating.

And it's like dropping a rock into a lake (or exploding a nuclear bomb, depending on the event). The concentric circles of feelings spread and touch everything - both on the surface and beneath. Everything is affected, whether you notice it or not.

The Adult Mind & Anger

As an adult, you try to navigate your own thoughts, reactions, and feelings flaming through your amygdala. It's really fucking difficult and definitely not linear. You may know, intellectually, that it's the right thing or that it had to happen, but honestly? Who cares about the intellectual on the day or day after the event?! You have emotions that are raging, lighting everything on fire, triggering extreme anxiety and physical discomfort within your chest.

Even breathing and meditation doesn't always expel the toxicity and anger, even if it helps a bit. It doesn't help enough though, when you're home with four kids who just want to sit on you. Be near you. Breathe on you. Block any movement of your arms to do anything. Hug you, run away and scream, return and hug you again. Ask for a sandwich, refuse the sandwich, ask for a different sandwich. Eat yours.

A part of you just wants to bury your face in their hair and breathe. Another part of you just doesn't want to be touched. And all you end up doing is flinching, crying, and screaming from rage when some tiny thing goes wrong.

From Adult to Kid

How the hell do you understand all that as a kid? 

Mom is crazy, sad, angry, cranky, snapping at the least offense. To prepare my oldest one for me (I'm a cocktail of issues sometimes: depression, anxiety, ADD), we spoke to him (8yo) so he knows what happened to trigger this. First my husband let him know, and later that afternoon, I felt it was a vital, teachable moment. 

I squatted down to meet his gaze and explained my feelings to him, my frustrations, my anger. I told him that I was treated unfairly because of a person with bad communication skills (the communication thing is a key issue in our family). He was sad for me, asked why the other person hadn't tried to explain better the problem. He and I ended up having an entire conversation about the importance of talking, and the disappointment when some people simply don't have the same values as you.

Amongst a ton of other feelings, I was just sad. And he got that, kept giving me hugs. I told him the whole situation sucked and I was super upset, but I would try again tomorrow.

A New Day - Tomorrow... maybe the next....

I'm feeling a little better tonight, but I had to hide in my room, take some prescribed medicine to help with anxiety, and relax. I listened to my newest communication podcast, which has brought me to a really good place this past week (check out 20 Minutes with Bronwyn), drank some wine, took some Udemy courses.

Hubby had to put the kids to bed, and from the sound of it, they were being challenging. And I could do nothing to help since sometimes it's simply better to stay away when you're a fire-breathing dragon with a short fuse.

So tomorrow, hopefully, I'll feel better. And I'll apologize for losing my shit and explain that adults also have really big feelings, but we have to learn how to react to them and control them instead of the other way around. Many times we succeed, but sometimes we simply fail. And failure is acceptable in life as long we learn from it and don't beat ourselves up about it.

One day, I hope the explanation of my feelings and apologies for bad choices will prevent at least one session with a psychiatrist. And maybe, just maybe, my love and hugs will help, too. 

That's what my tomorrow will be filled with - talking, opening up, and lots and lots of hugs and snuggling, if they let me. I think they will. Kids are pretty resilient - but don't take advantage of that. They're also pretty bright and perceptive. They know you better than you think.

Take that with a grain of salt and a shot of tequila.

Life during Corona: Week 1

Friday, March 20, 2020

We have survived the first week.

My husband, my best friend, my three kids (6yo, 4yo, and 2yo) and I are stuck in our three bedroom apartment in Netanya. The kids are home from school until who-knows-when, hubby is working from home (mostly in the evenings), and I'm working on staying sane and taking care of my kids and the apartment.

The kids have a LOT of energy - did I mention their ages? As predicted, they have had outbursts, big feelings, some regressions, and tantrums, but, for the most part, they've been pretty good considering the circumstances.

We took them outside for a bit twice this week (more than just our balcony) with our new scooters and it was great for them. Their cheeks got pink and flushed and they had huge smiles on their faces.

The rest of the time, we watched science shows (we like Dr. Binocs, among others), worked on a new 500-piece puzzle, drew pictures, played with legos and magnetiles, and read books. I'm sure we did more, but I can't think of it.

Me? I've had some anxiety though not all the time. It usually kicks in after bedtime, when I'm not distracted by the munchkins anymore. When everything slows down again and I have my life and my time to myself.

One morning I was having an especially hard time (Wednesday or Thursday, I believe, who knows what day it is anymore) and my hubby let me shut myself in my room and took care of all three crazies. He brought me coffee and food and I eventually came out after lunchtime.

Yesterday or the day before, we received news from my gynecologist's office that my next ultrasound (at the end of March) is cancelled due the worldwide corona pandemic (I'm currently 26 weeks pregnant). Apparently, that's not essential. I'm not too worried though because all my other tests have come back clear.

And tomorrow is my birthday. My 42nd - where I am the answer to life, the universe, and everything. We were really looking forward to this one.

I've gotten a few birthday wishes already and it's a little weird. Generally, I don't like to answer the phone, but, these days, I'll answer just to hear a familiar voice say, "happy corona birthday!" It was wonderful, but, honestly, it's not feeling like my birthday. Ever since my mom passed, my birthday has been kinda meh, but this year it's reached an entirely new level. It's like it doesn't exist and, honestly, I don't want it to. Like it just won't happen this year. It feels invisible, nonexistent. Like nothing matters.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Last night, I shared my feelings with my husband, reminding myself that he's not psychic. I tried to downplay it, but the anxiety kicked in hardcore. He wanted to know why I was crying, but it's hard to explain when it's nothing specific. I guess that's why they call it 'generalized' anxiety. I don't really worry about my immediate family here in Israel; I believe our country is handling it pretty well. I do worry about my brother in New York, my sister and her family in Toronto, and my two brothers and their families in Detroit. I worry about my dad, who is 82, and my friends who work in the medical field. I worry about my friends in the automotive sector, those who have been laid off, those who are single parents, those who are still working. There's lot to worry about. I told him how my birthday is just... nonexistent this year. He felt bad, said he ordered gifts for me, but due to corona (F-U corona), they likely won't arrive until the end of next month.

After crying, we held hands and fell asleep.

This morning, I slept in (always a big deal to a sleep deprived, sleep disordered, six-month pregnant mother of three). Hubby took care of the kids and around 11am; I woke up slowly. My husband came in and asked if I was going back to sleep or waking up. "Waking up," I said.

About ten minutes later, after I overheard some brief instruction to my 4yo to not bother me, everyone knocked and came in with a (high chair) tray of food (and a screwdriver, care of the 4yo), a mug of coffee, a lego crown (care of the 6yo), singing happy birthday, and to top it off, my BFF gave me a wonderful, pampering gift.

In my life, to my recollection, I have never had breakfast brought to me in bed. It was amazing.

Suddenly, I was lighter. A million times lighter. And a thousand times happier. Here were the most important people in my life, showing me love, happiness, and comfort. I smiled a huge smile.

I enjoyed my breakfast, drank my hot coffee, and read a book. Luxurious.

I felt renewed. After that, we all spent the day together, and that night, my amazing husband cooked us a chuck steak slathered in garlic (there is no such thing as too much), roasted potatoes, and garlic bread. The picture below really doesn't do it justice, but it was amazing.

With this day, my husband really resurrected my birthday... and my mood. Onto week 2.

Flutters of a Rainbow

January 30, 2020

Yesterday, we went in for our amniocentesis. I've been nervous about this for a while since there is a chance, though very small, of a miscarriage or injury to myself and the baby as a result of the procedure. I also run small in my pregnancies and, again, I have an anterior placenta (in the front) so that also adds challenge to the procedure.

Why was going through with this at all? I think mainly due to my age (I'm 41.9) and the heavy shadow of the last pregnancy. During the course of this pregnancy, we've had some scares. One of my blood tests, in this pregnancy, came back showing parvovirus - but then we learned that there are two results for that virus, one that shows its former presence (i.e. you had it in the past) and another that shows its present status of being in your blood (i.e. you have it right now). After some intense research, we discovered that I had had it in the past, though not currently. But in the time it took to comprehend my test results, my anxiety was through the roof and I was practically in tears on the train (always the train).

For those who don't know, parvovirus is a nasty virus for pregnancy and for all living things. Humans get the human strain (B19) of the tiny disease; it causes 5th disease (erythema infectiosum) in kids and, in 10% (or more) of the cases when pregnant women catch it, it causes hydrops fetalis, mainly due to severe fetal anemia, sometimes leading to miscarriage or stillbirth. Currently, there is no treatment or vaccine, though not for lack of trying.

I have no way of knowing when I actually contracted the virus or if it was one of the contributing factors to my loss. Also, my baby's umbilical cord was attached in the wrong place as well, so parvovirus might not have played any role at all in the loss. In the end, it doesn't really matter, does it?

But I digress. Another reason I was okay with doing the amnio is because my doctor would be the one doing it and after being in Israel for four and a half years, I finally found one I really trusted. He'd do it himself with the team in Assuta in Haifa.

I got especially nervous the week before the procedure but late last week (or early this week), I started feeling tiny little flutters inside my uterus. They are a little hard to describe and the only reason I even recognized them is because this is my fifth pregnancy (so weird to say).

See, some of the hardest times during the whole journey to a baby are: (1) the two week wait to see if you got lucky enough to get pregnant; and (2) the first half of the pregnancy until you actually feel what's growing inside you (medievally named "the quickening").

On our hour-long drive up north, I was kinda quiet. Telling myself that my mom had gone through amnios back in the '70s and '80s and everything turned out fine... that it's statistically more likely that something was wrong with the baby than the baby being hurt by the procedure... that Dr. Feldman knew what he was doing... and suddenly, my husband interrupted and told me to look out his window. And there, shining far out over the Mediterranean Sea, emerging from deep greenish gray clouds, was a beautiful Rainbow, saturated in color (though the picture below really doesn't do it justice).

The whole appointment, including the procedure, took about twenty minutes. That's it. A lot of hospital paper to localize the area and three wipe-downs with a LOT of sanitizing alcohol (so cold!). It probably would have taken even shorter had Rainbow not mooned the doctor.

Seriously.

Baby was facing tushy up when the doctor started using the ultrasound wand to figure out where to stick the needle and showed him a cute, tiny tush. It was quite the comic relief when my good-natured doctor said, with a smile, we don't behave like that!

He continued, pushed the baby around a bit to make room, pushed it around a bit more since it didn't like to cooperate (this kid is going to fit smoothly into my family), and finally found a space to insert the needle and withdraw the yellowish fluid (so much!). After he finished, I felt woozy, like when I donate blood, but worse. I sat there and drank water until the worst of it passed and then I became sickly ravenous.

Afterwards, we immediately went for food. Because I felt so sick, I ate verrrry slowly and we finally left the mall and headed for the car. We got back to Netanya just in time to get the boys, come home, and for me to pass out. Essentially, I slept on and off for the entire next two to two and a half days; I was wiped out.

I finally felt like myself again after the weekend but had a lovely bruise in the area of the procedure - especially wonderful since I have to give myself blood thinning shots every night in the same area. Then I waited, again, for the results which were to take 2-4 weeks.

Seriously.

After the Termination

Note: The below was written in real-time. It is now the end of January 2020.

October 28. Two months ago, after my "procedure," we went to see my gynecologist to make sure all was well. We asked him about trying again. He told us that since he knew we wanted another one, he'd say this: Normally he'd tell couples to wait three months to try again, but as I'm 41 and a half, I should take a month to recover and then come back pregnant. I smiled, glad he understood me and my wants, not really believing it could happen, but appreciating what I considered a blessing from him.

As I shared my experience with loss, I had many women (and even one or two guys) share their stories privately with me, thank me, and chat with me about their losses. More than a few women gave me blessings privately as we talked about things, but it always triggered a "yea, sure, that'd be nice." And even others told me that the period after a loss is the most fertile time (who knows why). I'm not really sure I believe that but it was a nice thought.

So we tried after my first real month "back." And I was sure that we missed the window (ovulation sticks and all), but the next morning when I peed on my ovulation stick, I saw I had been wrong - the stick was clearly positive. So we timed it well and then waited... and waited during that dreaded two weeks to see what would happen, if anything.

Toward the end of that two week period, there was one morning when I woke up ridiculously early, before everyone else, and my right hip was aching and hurting. For me, that's a distinct sign of pregnancy... it only happens when I'm pregnant and it only happens once at the very early stages. I thought to myself, there's no way.... So I didn't pee on a pregnancy stick even though I had an obscene amount ready at hand.

I waited a couple days, but the memory of the aching hip haunted me and my husband had a good feeling, even prior to me telling him about my hip. Normally I would only take a pregnancy test in the morning (first morning urine and all), but it was nagging me.

So two days before Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, in the afternoon of October 7th, I peed on a stick and laid it on the bathroom sink. And waited.

And waited a long couple minutes before I saw the faintest line ever.

But here's the thing. After years of researching, learning about pregnancy, and personal experience, I know that even an almost invisible line means positive. I was a little stunned, not really believing what I saw. I brought it out to my husband who was sitting on the couch watching television.

"Can I show you something?" I held up the stick.
"You peed on a stick?"
"I did."

He looked and said, "I see a line."
"Yea."

I sat down.
I didn't feel pregnant, but then again, my period wasn't even due for another day and a half. But I had no symptoms of any impending visitor (unlike last time, where the cramps went on forever), so it must be true.

Over the next day and a half, I peed on four more sticks, each one getting progressively darker. After Yom Kippur, I peed on the last stick. It was VERY CLEARLY two lines. Each time, I showed my husband. He was getting very, very excited about our rainbow baby while I seemed to only have anxiety.

** ** **
November 3. Well, jeez, today I thought about my previous pregnancy and I thought about this one; I thought I was doing fine. Then, this afternoon, a woman shared her new Facebook group (a Jewish women's support group for pregnancies after loss), explaining that it was needed because the new pregnancy is simply TERRIFYING. Out of nowhere (really?), I suddenly lost it. I was at the office, sitting at my desk, tearing up and crying.

That's when I realized she is absolutely right.

Ever since I found out I was pregnant, my husband has been excited and I have been terrified. I originally thought it was just nerves and anxiety, but it's so much more than that. This morning I was having slight cramping and started worrying again. In this pregnancy, everything has seemed normal (even unimpressive), but emotionally, NOTHING is normal about this pregnancy.

Last week, when I was about six weeks pregnant, we went in to the gynecologist. I thanked him for his blessing (he was confused, then amused), he scanned me and said everything looks good so far. We could see a yolk sac and such, but it was too early for a heartbeat (as expected). He instructed us to come back in two weeks to check the heartbeat and, on our way out, wished me good luck with a smile.

So now we're waiting another two weeks.

All the while, hubby has been really cute. He went out and got us snacks. Without thinking, he picked up a particular candy for us. Did he realize what he had gotten? No. But it's adorable.

This afternoon, I realized I was feeling weird all day but couldn't figure out why. I began freaking out a bit. I thought perhaps I was dehydrated - always possible - so I started drinking a 1.5L bottle of water. I was still edgy. But now, thinking more deeply about it... perhaps my anxiety is kicking in again about the pregnancy. Very very realistic. Very very likely.

See, in the last pregnancy, I had done everything perfectly, taken my prenatals, eliminated alcohol and raw fish (mostly), reduced my tuna intake, taken my folates, and then, for no reason whatsoever, my baby was sick. Very sick. And here's the worst part. With hydrops, there's no 'safe point.' There's no developmental period that you can mark as a milestone to know you're safe. Hydrops can develop for a plenitude of reasons - at 12 weeks, 24 weeks, 30-33 weeks, any point in between or later. THERE IS NO SAFE POINT. Talk about terrifying.

** ** **
November 12.  Today I'm eight weeks pregnant. Rainbow's eyes are now fusing shut so that they can develop and his/her tail is almost gone. Later this afternoon we are going into the gynecologist to check the baby's heartbeat. Am I nervous? Hell yes. But I keep breathing. What else can I do?

Learning to Let Go...

...and to breathe.

Yesterday was my beloved and my seventh year wedding anniversary and today is the sixth yarzheit (day of remembrance) for my mom - i.e. the anniversary of the day she died in the Hebrew calendar. And, shockingly, this is the calmest I've been in a while.

The end of August was painful - not nearly so as the middle, but I had a blood clot scare and job drama (not yet resolved, but looking good), and each morning I would count down the days until we were scheduled to go to the circus with our littles (on Friday the 30th). Once we made it to the circus, that pretty much meant I survived. Literally and figuratively. I had great belief that once August was over, things would be brighter.

It was sometime toward the end of the last week when my husband joined me in our room and told me that he realized we had NO mezuzot (scrolls) up on almost any of our doorways in our new apartment, and that we had not had any up all month. We moved in the beginning of August.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, there is a distinct and direct connection (whether superstitious or actual) between your health and your mezuzot. They are thought to act as protection over your residence and those within; they are the anti-thesis to evil and a guard over your home.

"The very purpose of mezuzot is the protection of the house and its inhabitants."

My husband is not the superstitious type (I am) so for that to come out of his mouth meant more than anything. We had had a crap-tastic month with no mezuzot. I was quiet and shocked and he immediately said, with great resolve, "I am going to find the mezuzot tomorrow and put all of them up. We need a better month."

And so he did.

Friday was Circus Day and we had a grand time. The kids requested cotton candy (it was larger than their heads) and sat there, astounded, eyes glued to the performance. Every so often, one of them would turn to us and say in their little voices, "What in the WORLD was that!?" It was magical and still brings a smile to my face.

Immediately after it ended, I realized my phone and wallet had dropped. It's still August, I thought, devastated, knowing that Shabbat was about thirty minutes away. Security couldn't find it. I couldn't find it (even with fifteen minutes of intense searching with a baby on my hip). My husband then went to find it and came back with it in hand. RELIEF!

We walked home quickly, lit candles, ate our Shabbat meal, put the kids to bed, said our gratefuls, one of which was celebrating the end to one of the worst months of our lives.

* * *

The next afternoon, after missing for at least six months, I found my engagement ring. Randomly, on the floor, laying and twinkling at me just inside a cabinet door, like the planet hadn't just shifted beneath my bare feet.

I blinked and gently picked it up. I turned it over. It wasn't my imagination - it truly was sitting in my hand, sparkling and reflecting more than seven years of love.

Over a month prior to moving, I had shared my worst fears with hubby, that my ring was lost forever. I was even ready to says the blessing for recovering lost items (like I said, superstitious), but my husband had faith it would turn up - even dreamed that it would be found before our anniversary.

And so it did! And, yes, I've been wearing it every day since.

Immediately after finding my ring, I jumped up, ran into our room, leaped onto the bed, and woke my husband with a huge smile on my face. He shared in my joy and calmly said, "you know, it's also Elul (a new Jewish month)... and Monday is our anniversary."

I could have cried with the sheer relief of it all. The weight suddenly lifted off my shoulders.

So who cares that we now have to get up and take three kids to three separate Ganim? Who cares that we now have parental meetings and all sorts of extracurriculars to handle? Who cares that I'm remembering my mom's passing at the same time as celebrating my marriage? NOT ME.

My mom would be super happy for me. She met my husband and loved him as a match for me. She saw the ultrasound of my first baby and loved the perfect shape of his head. I have an amazing husband who takes me to the beach at night to celebrate seven years, with wine and cheese, fruit and dip, and crepes with chocolate and jam. I have three ridiculous children who smile and scream with delight every time I come home from work. I live in a lovely neighborhood with really kind friends nearby who honestly care about me. I get to keep up and share videos and photographs with my friends and family regularly because of technology. I may not be financially wealthy (yet), but I am rich because I have a full life.

It's not perfect and I'd like another baby (healthy!), but today, at the beginning of September, Elul, and the rest of our lives, I'll take it.

Trust, lots of trust, and a little anxiety on the side.

Thursday, August 29.

I woke this morning with a lot of anxiety.

A year ago, when I was re-diagnosed with depression, I was "lucky" enough (haha) to also get its accompanying 'kissing cousin,' a.k.a. anxiety. I had never really had anxiety before, but I have plenty of friends with anxiety disorders. I could always sympathize, but never quite empathize until now.

Over the past year, I've had good reason to be anxious about things, but, see, the thing about anxiety is that it doesn't always make sense. I remember this past Spring my husband telling me that he finally bought me and my baby daughter the tickets to America we'd been talking about so I could go see my dad; I literally had low-grade anxiety the entire day before bawling and freaking out once I walked in the door. He didn't quite understand and I had to explain. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, I said between tears. It's just ... big. A lot.

Time has passed and I've had a rough August. A really rough "f*ck you" kind of August. We moved, had all three kids off school/gan, commemorated my mom's English date of death, learned our thirteen-week old fetus wasn't healthy and had to make the choice whether to terminate the pregnancy, had to maneuver the hospital system to finally get it terminated the next week, studied and took two legal exams to become licensed in Israel, celebrate what would have been my mom's 79th birthday, and then get a scare that my blood clots (from ten years ago) came back.

To add to all the physical and emotional drama that I endured this month, there was also an intense amount of job drama as well. I'm pretty sure it'll resolve this week, but that's a lot of additional anxiety to heap onto my already formidable depression that I'm carrying on my shoulders.

In my attempts to resolve this job drama, I had to speak with my boss and share some personal information from this past horrendous month of August. She was sympathetic but told me that I need to trust a little more.

While processing my experiences this month, I had some (very brilliant) friends and family check in and share with me what they believed were insights. They were legitimate. Both involved trust.

My husband, while I was explaining my feelings and what was happening around me, said simply, "I guess Talya needs to learn trust."

In the span of three days, four separate people told me that I needed more trust.

But, in the past, when your boss fires you the week you're sitting Shiva for your mom, you've had your best friend suddenly accuse you of stealing her $15,000 engagement ring and file a police report against you for said accused felony (and never apologize once the ring was found), you've had boyfriends cheat on you, you've had family (temporarily) turn on you, and most recently, your body fail you, how do you regain that trust in anything? In others, in your workplace, in your body, in life, in G-d?

I can't simply "unexperience" this crap, I can't "unsee" or "unfeel" any of it.

But here's the food for thought that was provided to me - do with it what you will:
The opposite of anxiety is not tranquility. Nor is it peace, clarity, calm, or serenity.
The opposite of anxiety is trust.

When we are anxious, we are not trusting in ourselves, in G-d (if you believe), in others, or in things to pass.

In Hebrew, "worry" is "דאגה"
It has four out of five of the first letters of the Hebrew alphabet. The missing letter is "ב."
When we worry, we're missing בטחון - the trust (the security).

So I'm going to consciously take a leap and make an effort to trust again. Myself, others, and G-d ... How the hell do I do that? I guess by taking one step at a time: accepting emotions, meditation, visualizations, exercising/sleeping properly ...

לאט לאט.