Author Archives: Martina

When NOT to Apologize

Never apologize for feeling proud of yourself, or your accomplishments, and sharing it.Do I really have to say more? Ok, I will. Recently, a friend shared a picture of himself, because he was very proud of all the hard work he had done to reclaim his jaw line. But when he posted it to his friends on social media, he apologized for the moment of vanity in advance.

This got me thinking…

Why do we apologize for our accomplishments? For our successes? For our blessings or gifts? Why do we feel the need to apologize for the good things in our life, whether hard- or easily-won? What is it inside of us that feels the need to diminish our joy in our accomplishments?

Is it fear of hubris? Fear of being cast out of the tribe for being “too much?” Or is it because we’ve been taught that to be proud is sinful – when it’s anything but.

To feel proud of yourself is to feel happy and grateful in something you’ve done. There is no sin in that. No matter what some institution outside of yourself (society, religion, etc.) tells you.

It’s ok to share your blessings.
It’s ok to share your hard work.
It’s ok to share your results.
It’s ok to share your joy.

It’s ok to feel proud of yourself and share it.

It’s also ok to share your fear, anxiety, frustrations, struggles, and losses.

It is all of the above that makes us human, and it’s all of the above that allows us to truly connect with one another through empathy and understanding. So, I will say it again: Never apologize for feeling proud of yourself… and sharing it. In fact, please share it. Share it as much as you want so that others can celebrate with you. And then you can celebrate with them when they have something to share, in return. Wouldn’t life be so much better that way?

What’s Your Schtick?

What’s your schtick?

Seriously, I’m asking. And it’s something you should ask yourself, too.

After my recent health scare (you can read about it here), I’ve been spending some time thinking about authenticity and what it really means to be yourself – to be true to yourself. What does it mean to unapologetically be exactly who you are?

Now, “schtick” sometimes can have a negative connotation, but I see it as it is defined by Merriam Webster’s: “one’s special trait, interest, of activity.”

I also like that it implies something routine or repetitious. Because who we are every day is a choice. Just as it can become routine or repetitive to be some curated version of ourselves, it has to be repetitive for us to be our authentic self, if we want it to become routine. That simply means that the more you are being you, the easier it will be to be yourself.

So, what’s your schtick? Where are you falling short, or overcompensating? For me, it becomes all too easy for to get swayed by what I see other authors/inspirers doing online. Social media is a great tool for connecting, and it’s also a great tool for feeling lesser-than. The truth is most of social media is curated. Yes, even the ones that say “I’m being 100% real.”

On social media, we share in order to feel like we belong. We choose to share what we love, but also what we know (or hope) will be accepted, so that we can belong. Somewhere. Even for a little while. But all of social media (and marketing in general) highlights the best of something. It’s edited. It shows us the tidy front of something, not the messy back-side. (Yes, even if the front appears not-so-tidy.)

It’s biologically unacceptable for us to show weakness (mess, fear, anxiety, etc.) unless it’s curated in some way, such as being veiled under the label of “authenticity” or #reallife. Once it has a label, it becomes a no-go zone for attack, which is what makes it safe. It changes the game for anyone watching. Suddenly the person being “real” is someone to be upheld (worshipped?) for their vulnerability, which then prevents us from seeing that it’s still curated and finessed. But I digress…

The important thing is not what others think. It never is. As I’ve said before: People’s view of you is not who you are. The important thing in life is knowing who you are and then acting on that in a meaningful way every day. In other words, what’s your schtick?

For me, thinking I was going to die and then living through that experience has opened up my eyes to the places where I wasn’t living true to myself. Here are a few examples that may help you look at your own life with new perspective:

1) I like nature, but I’m not “outdoors-y.” I prefer a 4- or 5-star hotel to a tent. I prefer a beautiful linen-laid table with a sumptuous breakfast to a campfire. I prefer sleeping in a room with air conditioning in the summer. I like to be comfortable. But, I have spent a lot of time apologizing for that. In fact, I have gone so far as to ask friends that love to camp to take me with them (thank God they haven’t), so that I can show I love it, too. But, I know I won’t love it. I know I would always rather sleep in a bed with sheets than a sleeping bag, and I will always prefer to have a bathroom nearby. It’s who I am. So, my schtick is being comfortable, and I’m done apologizing for it.

2) I love books, and I love to learn, but I don’t like to read. GASP! A writer who doesn’t like to read??? Yes, it’s true. I’ve never liked to read. That’s not to say that I don’t read, or I won’t devour something that’s really good, but, in general, I tire from reading rather quickly. If a book doesn’t keep my attention in each chapter, I put it down. I have more half-read books than completed in my library. But most people look at you funny if you say you don’t like to read. So, I never do. But now I am. I’ve been that way since I was little, and I suspect I will remain that way. I’ll still buy, love, and cherish books, because there’s something special about holding a book in your hand and the promise it brings. But, I’m not apologizing anymore for not finishing a book. If I’ve gotten out of it what I need in the section I’ve read, it has served its purpose. (This also means: if I’ve read a book in its entirety, the author did a REALLY good job with it.) So, my schtick is enjoying learning, in whatever form that takes for however long that is, and not apologizing for not liking reading.

3) I enjoy good design and nice things. I am just as comfortable in something from Target as I am in something from Neiman Marcus. For me, it’s all about the design. I don’t particularly care about labels, but I do like nice things. There was a time in my life when I would use and wear my nice things without batting an eye. In college, for example, I wore my fancy charm bracelet daily, along with other nice jewelry (in the middle of Ohio surrounded by cornfields). It was never (and is never) about impressing others, but about enjoying something myself. Then, as I got older, I started apologizing for liking/having nice things. So, I put them away. Well, since I almost died recently (or thought I was going to), I’ve decided that life is too short to hide away the things that bring you joy. What are we saving it for anyway? Why is the silver and fine china brought out twice a year on holidays? No longer. I’m now pulling my nice things out of storage. So, my schtick is enjoying (and using) nice things, whether they are considered a “luxury” or a “bargain.”

You see how we can get caught up in a game of edited and curated living without even realizing it? These may seem like little things, but they’re not. They’re big things, because all the little things add up together to slowly take us away from our authentic self. And in a cumulative nature, they build on each other until we totally forget who we really are, what makes us unique, and what makes us happy. Those are some or my things, but what are yours?

Again, I’m asking: What’s your Schtick?

An Unexpected Treasure – A Story of Crisis, Perspective, and Grace

I don’t want to die today.

That was the thought that was repeating in my head. Coupled with I might die today.

In the past, I have had thoughts of dying. Throughout my life (mostly the angst-ridden teenage years and the codependent marriage years) I had, on more than one occasion, considered dying… thought about my death… about leaving. But I had never thought about not dying. Until two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago, I very much thought about not dying… as I lay on a gurney in the ER, clutching my head, squinting my eyes through darkened glasses, and trying to absorb everything that was going on around me, and failing.

There was so much noise from the other cases that were being brought in, a chaotic symphony of movement of the medical staff attending to sprains, falls, and bleeds. And then I heard two people die. One over the phone, and one in a room nearby. I didn’t want to be the third. Everything happens in threes.

I don’t want to die today.

Interestingly, I wasn’t pleading: praying to God to spare me for just another day. Bartering about how much “better” I’d be if I were allowed to live. None of that entered my mind. My only thought was:

I have so much still to do… I can’t die!

With 10 manuscripts in varying forms of completion sitting on a shelf in my office, and another cluster of projects scattered throughout journals and drawers, and no contingency plan for their release – my prevailing thought was: I have too much to do to die.

But the doctors’ eyes told a different story. The nurses were doubling up to work on me to expedite the process (it didn’t work, as they still missed the first IV attempt), and get me to the CT scan. All the while, my mom sat patiently and quietly in a chair watching and listening between texts to family and friends. I suspect a prayer chain was enacted on some level. I know she was sending me Reiki continually, and calling in the angels. I could feel them standing by. Watching.

Then my personal doctor came in. He had been the voice that morning that said, “Get to the ER immediately. I’ll fast track you through. I’m here.”

It was his voice and those words that prompted my first thought of not dying. Up until that point, I hadn’t focused on the severity of the situation. In fact, I had simply thought that if I lay down, everything would be alright. I now know why the statistics for women are what they are. I don’t think we’re “dismissive” of symptoms, but rather, we are hopeful that a nice rest will solve any problem. So, we lie down, or have a cup of tea, instead of asking for help.

Thankfully, on that morning, after about 4+ hours of trying to “lie down” and use ice and heat to relieve my head pain, it was my mom who suggested I call my doctor. So I did.

His office paged him, and when he called me back, he asked what was going on.

“I’m sorry to bug you – it’s probably allergies,” I said.

“Well, there was a pollen bloom yesterday, so maybe, but what are the rest of the details?”

“I don’t know. I woke up at about 4am with a really bad headache-“

He interrupted, “Wait, did the headache wake you up?”


“That’s not good. What else?”

“I tried to go back to sleep. I assumed maybe I’m dehydrated or it’s allergies. So, I lay down again, but I couldn’t sleep, so, finally around 5:30, I got up and let the dogs out, drank two glasses of water, and put ice on my head.”

“Did it help?”

“No. Not really. Plus it hurts more if I yawn, move, stretch, or cough. So I went back to bed around 7:30, after telling my mom that I needed to lie down and asking her to feed the dogs. I put a heating pad on my neck and head, and that helped a little. I slept for about half an hour. But then it hurt more, and I had to go to the bathroom, and then it really hurt.”

“The pressure makes it worse?”

“Yes, like a sharp throbbing in my head. All over my head. From one ear to the other, wrapped around my head… like a halo. It feels like a halo. The only part that doesn’t hurt is the very back top.”

“Get to the ER immediately. I’ll fast track you through. I’m here.”

What? Why?

“No, I think If I can just rest, I’m sure-“

“Martina, get in the car now and get here. You might have a brain bleed. I’m calling them now. Ok?”

“Ok.” What?!?

So, I called my mom repeatedly (she had gone out to get her hair cut), to no avail. I knew I shouldn’t drive, so I started looking if an Uber was in the vicinity. Not likely in suburbia. So, I called my friend, but she didn’t answer. And then I felt a thought plop into my brain from above: Call the salon.

Thankfully, I heard it and listened. It’s not the first time they’ve helped me. And won’t be the last.

I called the salon, and they passed the phone to my mom. I explained what my doctor said, and she dropped everything and rushed home. Within minutes, I was in the car heading to the ER. Sunglasses on my face, eyes closed, and two hands clutching my head. The drive was horrible.

What’s wrong with me? A brain bleed?!? No, just no.

I had no answers. What I did have was mounting fear. My doctor is conservative and rarely prescribes any medication for me, as he knows I’m conservative too. So, if he says “get to the ER,” something’s wrong. Very wrong.


I shuffled out of the car into the ER, and leaned against a wall by check-in. I’m asked if I can move out of the way for a wheelchair to pass, and I reply, “Sure, if I can have another wall to lean on.” With that, the attendant grabs a wheelchair for me. In hindsight, I can see just how ill I was. At the time, I just didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

The nurse takes my name, and I mention that my doctor called ahead. They move me into triage immediately. All my vitals are taken and the first of a series of doctors comes in and asks me to tell the story.

“I was woken up around 4am with a headache-“

They always stop my right there with: “Wait, the headache woke you up? Out of sleep?”


And with that their face changes and the look of worry/fear/concern grows rapidly.

Apparently, that’s a bad thing, a very bad thing, to be woken up by a headache. But, coupled with the pressure changes from practically any activity, the nausea, and the light sensitivity, suddenly I was the most interesting case in the ER. Or, at least in the top three.

My ex-husband always used to say, “You don’t want to be the most interesting case in the ER. It means something bad is happening.”

I was reminded of that as I was wheeled to a room and a flurry of activity began around me. I couldn’t see straight, and I knew enough to know I was fuzzy, or foggy-brained. I still had my speech (that must be a good sign), but I was slow. Slower than normal. And the pain!!

In all my life I have never experienced pain like this, and it was growing. With each hour that passed, it had gotten worse. It’s the first time in my life when I answered the question: “on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is it?” with a “10.”

I wanted to take my head off my body and let it drain somewhere. The pressure, the heaviness, the pain were intolerable. And the worst part was that I really wanted to throw up – but I wouldn’t let myself, because I knew that would make the pain worse.

As I lay in the bed having as much conversation as possible with the two nurses working on me, the phrase kept playing over and over again like background music in my mind.

I don’t want to die today.

Always followed by: I have too much I haven’t done yet.

In front of me one nurse was trying to poke my forearm for the IV (“Not there, please, it never works there”), before failing miserably and leaving me with a bruise that resembles Gorbachev’s head. While the other nurse was trying to get a medical history.

“So, you have blood pressure issues.”

“No. I don’t. I never have. My family has a history of them, but I don’t.”

“Ok. So, then you have high blood pressure now.”

“Yes. I do… it seems.” Wouldn’t you, if you thought you might die? Geesh!

And then she comes around to the other arm and finally gets an IV in the top of my hand (the place I told them to go to originally.)

I know my body. I know it very well, and over the years, I have had ample opportunities to know it better. Plus I have a doctor who encourages me to be an advocate for my own health. He has taught me so much since our meeting in 1998. So, I know how to direct people who have never met me. What I haven’t figured out yet is how to get them to listen. Sigh.

During this time, my doctor came in and checked me out. Before saying anything, I reached for his hand. And he simply took mine and held it as he continued in conversation with me and mom. He knew I was scared, and that simple gesture gave me breath.

He reviewed the plan with me, and said we would take it one step at a time. The issue was, of course, fear of a brain bleed. A subarachnoid hemorrhage, to be exact. (Interestingly, Emilia Clarke from Game of Thrones had just talked about her SAH in last week’s People magazine, which I read only recently. I had never heard of it before.)

A brain bleed.

A… Brain… Bleed.

Sigh…. Breathe.

That’s another term for a stroke. And in my family, we’re all too familiar with strokes. But how? A stroke? At 47? I mean, I know I’m 47 in calendar years, but I definitely still feel likeI’m in my 30s. A brain bleed.


“I don’t want to die,” I told him.

“Well, that’s why you’re here. So that doesn’t happen.” He has always been very matter-of-fact.

With the IV finally in place, I am rushed to the CT scan through all the very well-lit hallways of the hospital. Thankfully, I kept my sunglasses on. The light sensitivity had worsened along with the pain, and by this point, I started to think that death would be a relief… if only it could be temporary.

The CT scan was quick, but I was still fidgety and agitated, even though I had saline and medicine flowing through my veins. Lying still is not my forté at the best of times. Lying still in pain was virtually impossible. But I practiced my breath and got through it.

Breathe in… 1… 2… 3… 4…

Breathe out… 1… 2… 3… 4…

In… and out… In… and out… Four counts every time. And it helped. Before I knew it, I was done and wheeled back to the hallway to await transport.

As I lay on my mobile bed in a sterile hallway, another patient was resting a few feet away. She was elderly and had two nurses with her. While their conversation centered on their respective work schedules and vacations, one of them never let go of this woman’s hand.

Her old, wrinkly, spotted hand, worn thin from age, held fast to the plump and soft one connected to her nurse, just like my own had done a few minutes ago with my doctor. In every other respect, she seemed all but dead – except for this single gesture. Her raised hand, clutching tightly to another human being.

I imagined she was scared, even though she couldn’t speak it. I felt that she was lonely, even though she was surrounded by people caring for her. And then I asked the angels to come be with her, to make her less lonely and afraid. And for the briefest of moments, I forgot that I might be dying. I forgot that I was in pain.

When they wheeled her away, I sent my blessings with her. And as I write this, I wonder about her and hope she is well. May she be blessed. As I have been blessed and am always blessed. Even in pain. Even in fear.

While my fear was only about to get worse, for a brief moment I had been gifted a respite. And I was grateful.

And with that I was wheeled through the same bright hallways back to my “room” where my mother was waiting. They gave me more IV medicines, and turned down the lights. When combined with what I had just experienced with the other patient in the hallway, I started to feel a sense of peace, and I closed my eyes and allowed my body to breathe itself.

I might die today, and … ok.

I’m not sure how long I was resting before my ER doctor came in to give me the CT results.

“There’s good news and bad news. The good news is, the CT scan was clear,” he said, as I sighed audibly. “The bad news is…. You were outside the window for the CT scan to be definitive.”

“What?” I caught my breath, “What does that mean?”

“There is a 6-hour window in which we can use the CT scan as a definitive diagnostic tool. You were just outside that window at about 7.5 hours.”


“It means…. We need to do a lumbar puncture to be sure.”

Great! So, not only might I die today, I could end up paralyzed too. Or instead. Or wait… What?!

My head was swirling in a a thousand directions. All the meds they had given me suddenly stopped working, and I was alert and in pain and unable to take in what he had just said. I had been resting, hopeful, quiet, and now the noise and cacophony of the ER were like uninvited visitors at my bedside.

“A lumbar puncture?,” I stared him in the eye. “I don’t want to.”

“Yes, a spinal tap – to rule out any blood in the brain. With your family history-“

I cut him off. “I know. I know the history…. But, a spinal tap? Here? When? How? Why?” I had so many questions, none of which would have the answer that I wanted.

“Because we have to be able to rule this out.” His look betrayed his calm voice. The fear that I was still bleeding somewhere in my brain was clearly a possibility.

I’m a trained therapist, I know about ruling things out. I know how this works, and I know they were doing their best for me. I also knew they were scared. For all their training, the doctors’ eyes betrayed them. Every time I looked them in the eye, the worry and fear was palpable. They were scared, and they needed answers themselves to know what to do next. And the clock was literally ticking on the wall.

“I guess, if I have to – but I have questions. I’m not one of those patients that doesn’t want to know. I want to know. Everything. A to Z, every step, every reason, what to expect. I do better that way.”

He proceeded to explain it all to me, step by step, as I had requested, and at the end, I had two final questions. “You’re going to do this highly sensitive procedure here, in this room, with all this noise and commotion all around us in the ER?”

“I’m trained to tune that all out. It will be fine.”

“Ok, but what about me tuning it out? I could barely lay still for the CT scan, and that was only a few minutes, this is longer and I have to be more still, especially with more severe consequences…”

“I will give you something for that. You will be relaxed, and we will guide you through everything. There will be a few of us in the room helping you.”

I took a deep breath, and asked one more thing, “And you’re sure you have to do this?”

“We have to rule out a brain bleed, and this is the only way,” he paused. (For effect? I don’t know, but it worked.) “Martina, this is serious.”

As if I didn’t already know that.


“Ok.” He got up and quickly left the room to prepare for the next step. He was a man on a mission. Thankfully, he was true to his word and he filled my IV with a very relaxing cocktail. It was the best I had felt in eight hours. At least for a little while. Once I had to start participating in the procedure, I was anything but comfortable.

As I sat there hunched over a table, trying to extend my back into a deep curve, I prayed. Again, there were no pleading prayers, begging for mercy. Instead, there were commanding words, as if I were directing a roster of volunteers… or, perhaps, commanding an army.

“I call on the angels of wisdom, of healing, of stability, of medicine, of guidance, and of peace to be here now. I call on God to be here now. I call on Jesus and Mary Magdalene to be here now. Let your hands guide the doctor’s hands. Be his eyes and his guidance. Make the path clear and easy. Make this process effortless and clean. Make it peaceful and quick. Be here now.”

I repeated words like that over and over in my head for 20 minutes, as they prepped everything. And then the time came, and I was asked to remain still and simply breathe. With my back as curved as I could get it, I called on the angels of stillness and invited them into the room. Then I closed my eyes and breathed.

Breathe in… 1… 2… 3… 4…

Breathe out… 1… 2… 3… 4…

I did nothing but breathe as the doctor behind me explained every step, while the doctor in front of me encouraged and supported me through the process. As a team, they were exactly what I needed. And they got the tap they needed.

With the “priceless sample” sitting on a table in my room, I was told to lie on my back for the next hour, as you’re supposed to do after a spinal tap. With all the meds coursing through my veins, and the after-effects of the intensity of the moment, it was the best rest I had had the entire time. Everything combined had given my body some space to simply relax. The headache wasn’t as bad, though it was still above a 5 on the scale, and somehow I had decided I wasn’t going to die. Even if the spinal tap came back with blood – I decided I wasn’t going to die. And that was that.

In the end, it was a successful tap. In fact, I found out a day later that it was considered a “champagne tap” – which means it was as clean as it could possibly be, without even hitting a blood vessel on the way in. My doctor said it was as if everything was moved out of the way. Thank you, God, angels, Jesus and MM. I love you.

So, the tap was clean, which meant everyone could breathe a sigh of relief. Sort of. They knew I wasn’t having a bleed, but they didn’t know why I was having the pain and symptoms.

To make matters worse, there is something called a rebound headache from the spinal tap, which started to kick in about an hour and a half after. So, my level 5 headache began climbing again. I was not out of the woods, I was simply no longer stuck in quicksand surrounded by man-eating beasts. This all meant I wasn’t going to die. At least not from a stroke or brain bleed. Not that day. But I still needed help.

With the head pain now reclassified, I was given new prescriptions to fill, and eventually discharged from the ER. I went home to lie down, have something to eat (which I hadn’t done since the evening before), and rest. Ice was my new best friend, along with a trio of medicines.

I saw my doctor the next day, and we reviewed everything. It turns out the CT scan showed a problem. There was gray matter around my highest cervical vertebrae that possibly represented a muscle spasm or other issue in my neck. So, the decision was made to treat me based on that data.

It’s been two weeks, and I still have a headache every day. The lowest it gets is a 1-2 on the scale, but it still spikes to a 6 or 7. Over the weekend it climbed back to an 8, and was the worst it’s been since the initial event. Consistently, it’s probably a 3 or 4. Given what I went through, a 3 is tolerable. While I’m foggy-brained and slower than I’d like, it will be a while before I reclaim “normal.” Movement is difficult at times, and I still have anxiety about a recurrence, but all in all – I’m ok. And I will be ok. And that’s ok.


Because this event has given me the greatest gift possible: perspective. I am seeing things differently now. I am making different decisions. My priorities have shifted. Almost dying (or thinking you’re going to die) has a tendency to do that to a person, I think.

While I can’t say that I was a workaholic, or had misaligned priorities, I can say that I hadn’t been tending to my life the best that I can. I haven’t been as deliberate as I would like to be, or can be. And that is changing now.

While I was familiar with thinking about dying in the past, I had never actually faced the possibility of death, and subsequently thought about not dying. Shifting perspective in this way has created an opportunity inside of me to create differently, and I’m not going to squander it. I’m not willing to squander it.

There is nothing more important to me than living this life that I’ve been given, in the best way I know how, living out my dharma – or purpose – with integrity of intent, authenticity, joy, and hope. I think many people who have witnessed my journey would say that’s what I’ve been doing, and they wouldn’t be wrong.

But from where I sit now, I can see that it feels more like I’ve been dabbling in it, not actually embracing, doing, and running with it. Almost dying, or thinking I might die, has been an unexpected treasure on the journey.

The next step – other than healing – is to resolve to find the courage to live that purpose out loud, as I’m meant to. I have a feeling I will. I just need a little time to bring all the pieces of me along. A little time to heal and restore. And that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Resentment and Intimacy

I was talking with a client about resentment a while back, and we explored how it can creep in unnoticed and then blindside us. Resentment creates a false sense of righteousness, which inevitably leads to more disconnection. That means: you cannot have an intimate relationship with someone you resent.

Unfortunately, unaddressed resentment will always grow. So, it’s even more important to develop an awareness to it and not just brush things under the rug.

The Myth of Desire

If you have to chase, it, convince it, coerce it, or con it… it’s not for you.

This is one of life’s simple truths. Is it always true? Of course there are exceptions. There are exceptions to everything. But the question then is:

Why are you looking for an exception?

Is it because you don’t want it to be true? Or have you actually genuinely tested it and know it not to be true for you?

If you spend all your time pursuing that which isn’t for you – you will always miss the things that are yours, because you won’t be able to see them. You’ll be blinded to their existence by desire.

Desire is a fickle friend, it can lead us down a path of unhappiness that we don’t notice until it’s too late. Unquestioned desire (often created and fueled by external sources) is even worse. It’s a con artist that feels like motivation and hope, but in reality is based in lack and fear.

Inspired Moments: Words With Clients

Sometimes, when I’m working with a client, I hear my words, and I think, “Oh! That’s good. I should write that down.” And then I do, or I don’t – because sometimes by the time I have a pen in hand, the phrase is gone and I can only hope that my client wrote it down, because it was meant for them.

The thing is, when you do this sort of work – work that is a combination of coaching, intuitive/psychic reading, energy healing, and a hint of psychotherapy all rolled into one – you are doing work that transcends any one discipline and is highly unique to the person at the other end of the line.  And yet… it’s also not.

So much of what I do is about the human spirit – helping others to know and reclaim their authentic self, as both a human and a spirit. So, it’s not surprising that certain phrases, while inspired by the uniqueness of my client, are also applicable to humanity as a whole.

Last month, three phrases stood out enough for me to write them down on scraps of paper around my desk. I looked at them again and have decided that I’m going to start sharing these nuggets with you all, in the hopes that you find their wisdom helpful in your own journey.

“Enabling is doing something for someone; Empowering is teaching someone how to do it for themselves.”

“Anywhere there is subjectivity, it’s human, not divine.” 

“Even though water is the last thing to go in the jar – which implies it has a low priority – it is the one thing that completes the jar, fills it, and holds everything together. It is the intangible in our lives that makes it all make sense.”

That last one I said only this morning. I was using the analogy of filling the jar (stones, pebbles, sand, water) with a client to help them identify their priorities and assess where they’d like to make changes. As we went through each category, the examples became clear, but when we got to water, I shared a new way to look at it. Instead of seeing it as a low priority, because it was last on the list, I suggested it is perhaps the highest priority, because it’s the only thing on the list that gives meaning to everything else. It fills in all the gaps and connects everything together… completing the jar.

Water, therefore, is something like: Faith, Love, Hope, Peace, Joy, Passion. The water does not represent a to-do list item to be prioritized, but rather can create items for the to-do list that fuels it.

For me, it’s the reason I do anything (and everything) else.

Just Add… MUSIC!

If I were ever to make one of those lists – you know the kind I mean, the ones that are in every health, lifestyle, and inspirational magazine – to share my “top ten ideas for a better ________” (fill in the blank), it would undoubtedly include: Turn on the tunes!

Music has a transformative power. It’s like audible lubrication for your emotions.

  • Feeling sad and want to cry? Turn on a song that triggers your tears.
  • Feeling tired and unmotivated to clean or work out? Boom! Music is the best ‘pep talk’ you can find.
  • Feeling stressed and overwhelmed? Calm or soothing music can relax you within minutes.

Music is one of my favorite tools in my toolbox, because it instantly changes my mood and my energy, and I get to choose what I want or need to shift in the moment, with real-time results!

Just this morning I was feeling a little ‘meh’ about all the things on my growing to do list. I was sitting in silence staring at both my screen and my paper notepad, and I remembered: turn on the tunes! Et voila! With a little help from Sting, Adele, and Enrique Iglesias I had a sudden energy shift, and I focused more. Task completion is underway and the to do list is shrinking.

Whatever you need to support or enhance in your life, or if you’re feeling stuck or in doubt about what the next right step is, try using music deliberately as a tool. I think you’ll be glad you did. I know I am. (And so is my to do list!)

Words for a New Year

Any transition that can be marked in some tangible way is a great opportunity to invoke a shift in energy and consciousness. So, as we move from one year into another, I would like to share with you the words I spoke last night from my bed (shortly before midnight) to mark the occasion.

Thank you to the previous year for supporting me and providing for me with numerous opportunities for growth, connection and understanding. As I move from one year to the next, I leave behind any and all obstacles that would keep me from my path. I release that which no longer serves me and send it back from whence it came, or to where it belongs. I close out the year leaving behind anything that is not aligned with my highest vibration and greatest good. 

To the coming year, I invite all pieces of me, scattered throughout the universe in time and space, home. I call forth the energy of the light to work with me on my path, to manifest that which is in alignment with the greatest good, and my journey. I clear the way forward and illuminate it with grace and ease. 


Happy New Year. xo

Self Care Simple Truths

“Self care” has been a big phrase that gets tossed around across multiple industries. We actually had a class on self-care in grad school because of the high burnout rate among social workers. (It wasn’t mandatory, but I think it should be.)

Of course, self care is easy to talk about and harder to implement, for two main reasons:

  1. Self-care inevitably takes time, and time is something a lot of people feel they don’t have or shouldn’t take for themselves, because
  2. We’ve been taught to prioritize our lives in a non- self care way, stigmatizing the act of self care as a luxury or worse, selfish.

But, self care is neither luxurious nor selfish, it’s a fundamental component to our health, just like eating, breathing, and sleeping.

So, I thought I’d compile some some simple truths about self care that can help change the way we look at this important aspect of good health:

  1. We are entitled to take time to care for ourselves. Entitled. It’s not a privilege nor a gift, it’s a basic human need, and we are allowed to claim it. Even if it’s five minutes a day (which can be hugely beneficial, by the way), we are entitled to take and make time for our health and care.
  2. Self care can be easy, simple, and free. So often I hear people say “I don’t have time/money/ability to do that.” But it doesn’t have to be a $500 spa day or even a weekly mani/pedi for it to be effective. In fact some of the most effective self care is done for free in just five minutes a day, like conscious breath, or sipping tea, or calling a friend, or reading. What matters is the consistency and frequency, not the cost or length of time.
  3. It can be difficult to make yourself a priority, and that’s ok. If you’re not used to doing it, and you’ve bought into the matrix belief that it’s wrong or shameful in some way to prioritize yourself, making the shift in your thinking can be a challenge, and it takes time. That’s ok. Changing a belief about something is harder than changing a habit; but changing the habit will help you to shift the belief. It’s about taking the first step and following it up repeatedly over time. Soon enough, it will have shifted on its own, and you’ll be well on your way to being a priority in your own life.
  • The bottom line is self care can feel like scaling Mt. Everest because we make it more complicated, time-consuming, and expensive than it has to be. In reality, good self care should feel like breathing – a natural part of your daily life, however you choose to do it. When we look at it like that, it shrinks down to the size of an ant hill.
  • * Excerpted from What now..? by Martina E. Faulkner, LMSW – scheduled for publication in 2019.
  • The Role of “Family” in Relationship

    Over the years (more often than not), I have heard story after story about how stressful family gatherings are around the holidays. In fact, there is an entire product-based industry capitalizing off this stereotype. (One of my favorites is a funny dishtowel I spied in my aunt’s house):

    Now, not every family is dysfunctional, of course, because every experience of family is highly individual. What may appear to be “bad” to someone else, is “normal” or even fun to the person experiencing it. I’ve heard stories of yelling, fights, and behavior that would lead an outsider to believe that everybody hates everybody – when the reverse is actually true. Then I’ve heard stories of happy peaceful dinners, where after the fact everyone goes home and breathes a sigh of relief to no longer be in the company of their relatives. The bottom line is: There is no “right” way to be family (despite what the Hallmark Channel wants us to believe).

    How you personally define “family” is what matters. The traditional definition of family (from uses the phrase “a social unit,” and I think this most accurately describes what family means: It’s a unit.

    In our life, we can have more than one “family” unit. There are work families, friend families, church families, fitness families, etc. In my experience, though, I’ve come to learn that we all have two specific families: family of “blood” and family of the heart.

    Every social unit in our life falls into one of these two categories, and for some, the family of blood is also the family of the heart. But whether it’s our fitness family, church family, friend family, work family (etc.), all of these “families of the heart” have one thing in common: relationship.

    Relationships are connections that we make based on something shared and require mutual investment, maintenance, and commonality. In our family of blood, we have shared DNA (in the case of adoption, it’s the bond that is shared). And yet, shared DNA (on its own) is not enough to sustain a relationship.

    This is why we see so many fights or dysfunction around traditional family gatherings: the assumption that shared DNA, alone, is a relationship. It’s not. That would be like saying a shared cubicle wall is a relationship. It’s circumstantial.

    Every healthy relationship requires nurturing, mutual respect and investment, as well as a genuine interest in each other. The circumstances upon which two people are brought together (such as shared DNA or an office wall) are not enough on their own to create a healthy relationship. They’re the cause for coming together, but it’s what happens after that makes the difference.

    What transforms shared DNA (family of blood) into relationship (family of the heart) are all the little, consistent, and thoughtful things that we would do in any other social situation in which we want to build connection with another human being… and it requires reciprocity. Without reciprocity, it’s not a relationship, and no shared biology can overcome that.

    So, as we spend the next month gathering, sharing stories, and possibly feeling less connected than we think we “should” (darn those Hallmark movies!), perhaps it’s a good time to let yourself off the hook and remember a simple truth: shared genetics is not a reason to expect relationship and connection. Unless both parties are invested, it can become an exercise in frustration (as all the stereotyped products have shown us).

    However you define “family” is up to you. For me, I think of it as people who have my back, and know that I have their’s, regardless of whether we share any biology.