self-love – Meg Hartley

7 Things I Learned from 5+ Years of Solitude

Published on April 1, 2023April 8, 2023 by megglesworthLeave a comment

Isolation can be transformative and empowering, here’s how.

Originally published Mar 23, 2021, on Medium

It’s been one year since the pandemic started, a year that’s brought significant changes for just about everyone.

Some of us have been overly trapped in a house with too many people; but others of us have been all on our own for quarantine, left alone with our minds, and a pet, if we’re lucky.

Going from a life of being out in the world, talking with people, experiencing novelty and freedom — to being all alone in your apartment, like, every day, can be immensely difficult.

In October of 2015, I had my last day working at a health company that had been extremely compassionate in regard to my sick time. I had been crashing right after work most days for years, and the days where I couldn’t leave the house at all had started to outnumber the days that I could.

Since then, it’s been a life of treasuring the days where I do feel good enough to leave the house.

I’d learn that I had a B12 level of 132 pg/mL; the doctor noting that I’d have been paralyzed within a month, and dead within a year. A year and a half later, having been tested for just about every other ailment — I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, explaining the pain all over my body, but leaving me with many unanswered questions.

And, finally, just this summer I was diagnosed with Level Two autism, a mind-blowing diagnosis, for sure, but one that has brought me the answers to those questions, tools, and a literally like-minded community (if only online, for now).

So, when the pandemic started, I was already on year four of near-complete solitude — I have been completely by myself for the vast majority of my hours, for five freakin’ years.

At first, it was really hard. Not gonna lie.

But this solitude has brought me treasures, as well. Transformational ones.

May we all be infinitely more awesome versions of ourselves by the time the world reopens, ready to rock its socks right off.

Our world constantly feeds us information to process and react to, and while letting all that go might be difficult; its absence can be immensely centering, especially with some intention and effort.

Though the arrival of vaccines is exciting, the reality is that many of us (especially my fellow high-risk peeps) are probably going to be solo’ing it up for some time — so I thought that I’d share the gifts that isolation has brought me, and how to get at ‘em.

7 Things I’ve Learned from Extended Solitude

The most important relationship is the one we have with ourselves. For a lot of us, it’s easy to be thrown into everyone else’s world, letting other people occupy our mental spaces rather than focusing on cultivating our own internal peace. It’s important to engage in activities that help us feel closer to ourselves; for me, it’s spirituality and making art (ta-da) — maybe for you, it’s gourmet cooking whilst listening to personal development podcasts. But whatever it is, making it happen regularly is absolutely worth the effort.
Self-care, like meditation and daily movement, is not optional. Similarly, it’s important to hold ourselves accountable for taking care of our minds and bodies, which can be tricky when your whole routine is thrown out of wack. Luckily, to get rolling all you need is a bit of floor space, maybe some direction and inspiration from YouTube, and willpower derived from knowing that self-care leads to happier and more productive days — making you your best you.
It’s okay to follow your own rhythm. Our society pushes a fast-paced lifestyle that starts at 6:30 am, and even if you’ve been laid off, or your hours have become more flexible; it’s likely you’re still feeling pressure to keep it up. Take this opportunity to learn about your own internal rhythms — see what time you wake up natural, be busy on a Sunday and chilled out on Monday, discover what truly works for you.
Authenticity is key to sanity. I first started falling ill regularly over a decade ago, and the forced solitude helped me realize that I wasn’t being my full self when around others, that I feared doing so, and it made me anxious, almost constantly, which I hid, constantly. After a few months alone, unobserved, unguarded, unedited; I found myself being sillier, as well as feeling more joy and peace, and I’m better able to bring that into my relationships when I do have the energy to connect.
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Notice how you are alone, and how you are with others — is there a gap? As the great Brené Brown says, “If you trade your authenticity for safety, you may experience the following: anxiety, depression, eating disorders, addiction, rage, blame, resentment, and inexplicable grief,” which is something I can personally vouch for. Mind the gap, my friend, then close it good.
Societal conditioning is utter nonsense. All this time alone, without being persistently exposed to and influenced by the views of others, being able to control the amount of conditioning I’m exposed to — has helped me to really see our society for what it is. (And, very often, it’s not great.)
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Inspect your psyche and motivations, how much is “mother culture” affecting your goals, assumptions, and beliefs? How does advertising affect you? Social media? Keep your eyes peeled for internal reactions (especially shame) when encountering aspects of socialization and our society, observe how conditioning can be an insidious mofo.
The key to never being bored is caring more. My mother always used to say, “If you’re bored, you’re boring,” which irritated me as a restless teen, but I’ve come to see its wisdom. Engaging people are always engaging with something, learning about their new passion, supporting the people around them (if only from afar), and generally cultivating their curiosity at every turn — and the key to it all is caring.
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While happy hours and concerts allude, opportunities for caring are still abundant, and one is never bored whilst giving a shit about something. (It just can’t be done.) Whether it’s getting involved with your community somehow, taking up a new hobby, or exploring your obsession with some random topic you love with all your heart; bid adieu to boredom and get it get it.
It’s crucial to know what company uplifts, and who drains you. When availability for interaction is limited, it’s especially important to be particular. Once I started examining how I felt after talking with people (in-person or otherwise), I realized that I very often wound up in a negative space afterward; realizing that they hadn’t asked me a single question, that an errant comment was making me insecure, or that I was feeling otherwise diminished, less seen.
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My experience was certainly colored by my unconsciously deflecting to mask my autism (and other coping methods), but this isn’t an uncommon issue. Some of us are keener to hold space, and others are keener to take it — it’s important to find balance in both our behavior and in the company we keep. The forced space of quarantine can help ween out potentially toxic relations, leaving more time for connection that uplifts.

While I hope that this isolation is broken sooner than later, I try to remember the overwhelmingly external times in my life, the days I had too many places to go, too many people to talk to — and remember that those times will come again, and they’ll likely send me into a light nostalgia over my present situation.

Let’s make the best of being here, now, shall we?

May we all be infinitely more awesome versions of ourselves by the time the world reopens, ready to rock its socks right off.

We got this.

7 Benefits of My Late Autism Diagnosis

Published on April 6, 2021January 21, 2023 by megglesworthLeave a comment

It’s about brain functionality and mental health, not “feeling special.”

April 6, 2021

People who are autistic need to know that they are — we’re wired differently, and there’s power in learning how. Photo by Felicia Buitenwerf on Unsplash

Seven months ago, at 37 years old, I was diagnosed with autism.

What. A. Trip.

One of the many ways it’s so bizarre is discovering the bewildering reactions that some people have to the late-diagnosis community, especially on internet spaces like YouTube and TikTok.

Most of the comments tend to be positive ones from other autistic people, but it’s also common for “normal” neurotypical (NT) people to troll these posts and make disparaging comments.

In these online interactions, the motivations of the often relieved and jubilant newly diagnosed autistic person are questioned by the NT — “You’re not autistic, you’re just weird. If you don’t even seem autistic, why claim it now?”

And it’s not uncommon to see such comments even on videos that talk about dealing with trauma related to being unknowingly autistic, making it seem like they didn’t even bother to watch the video before doing the gaslighting.

These people often accuse the autistic person of just seeking attention, a reason to feel special, or something to use as an excuse.

I don’t know what to make of this behavior. There are so many people engaged in this cruel nonsense, it’s really quite sad. (They seem sad. Why else would you do that? #hurtpeoplehurtpeople.)

But mostly, it’s just mind-bogglingly messed up.

Despite my having had a decisive and thorough professional assessment, and despite it concluding I’m Level freakin’ Two autistic (not that self-diagnosis isn’t valid, it is), just reading these kinds of public exchanges led to my experiencing persistently defensive thought patterns, a kind of imposter syndrome eating away at my new—and desperately-needed—clarity.

This internalized ableism is common among the newly diagnosed, which is dangerous considering the terrifying mental health stats in the autistic community.

Plus, we’re trying to emotionally and mentally process so much already — finding out you’re actually autistic after decades of thinking you just really sucked at being normal is disorienting, to say the least.

To say a little more: discovering that you’re actually autistic after decades of trying to be NT is a complete and total mindf**k.

I had trouble sleeping for months afterward because I was plagued with painful memories from my past, slivers of trauma that finally made sense after diagnosis coming up to be reprocessed under this new lens, over and over and over and over and over and over…

It was a fragile time, to say the least. I clung to autism studies and first-person testimonials to keep some semblance of my sanity; each new piece of information clicking into my psyche, helping me understand that I’m not broken, I’m just different. Knowledge truly is power.

So, it’s really frustrating to finally find a lifeline—a sign of hope after decades of feeling like life is impossible—only to have ignorant people question its validity.

And there are all kinds of people assuming that autistic stereotypes are the full picture, that autism can be spotted with one’s eyes rather than by extensive knowledge of one’s internal processes.

This perspective is normal, which creates an abundance of toxic behavior.

It has to stop.

People need to understand what autism truly means, so that they may stop making things even harder for us—even well-intentioned people know so little about autism in adults that their comments are often persistently painful.

For example, saying “I can’t even tell, you seem normal enough, you’re cool,” isn’t a compliment—it’s an insult to the very autistic parts of me I’m not showing you, as well as my community. (Which is actually cool AF, FYI.)

To that end, here’s a little more about the journey; then I’ll share the benefits of having found my answers, at last.

From Lost to Found

A year ago, I was wildly disappointed with myself for being so relieved that the pandemic meant I could stop pushing myself to “get out there,” an effort that had led to a renewed eye twitch, aided by several already-established relationships that had me distraught.

Despite years of working to cultivate more authenticity, I was riddled with behaviors that, in hindsight, were clearly unconscious attempts to cover my differences and make myself more palatable; a coping technique called masking that’s common in autistic people (especially those of the so-called “female” phenotype, which can present in any gender)—but the actual effect was to make me feel misunderstood, unseen, and unheard.

And, since I was clueless as to why this was happening, I had no idea how to stop creating the same lonely results.

I was plagued by insecurity, always trying to stop mentally hand-wringing about my differentness, my loneliness; trying to answer endless questions about why I did the things I did and felt the way I felt.

Finally being diagnosed with Level Two autism was like being thrown a life preserver in a sea of soul-sucking confusion.

Why did people continuously misinterpret my words? Why did they assume things about me that are untrue? Why was I persistently underestimated? Why did they say I sit and move my body weirdly? Why was I still so tired, why couldn’t I ever keep up? Why did light and sound overwhelm me? Why did I always feel like I was making up for some unidentified shortcoming, even with strangers? Why did people have such odd reactions to me? (What did I do wrong this time?!)

And why did I always feel like I had to put on a show, a facade of someone less complicated than me? Less emotional, less opinionated, less open, less awkward, less neurotic. Just. Less.

And why was it so hard to stop? Why did it feel like my very safety was tied to this mask?

What the heck was my deal?!

It was literally maddening—after years of struggle and related physical ailments, my mental health finally became truly dangerous to my safety; with my being hospitalized twice because I was afraid of what I might do alone overnight when physical and mental health symptoms peaked.

Finally being diagnosed with Level Two autism was like being thrown a life preserver in a sea of soul-sucking confusion. It’s been really challenging to process, but it absolutely saved me as well.

Goodbye, self-hate. Hello, self-wisdom.

The experience of late autism diagnosis can also be compared to using the instructions and procedures for a PC your whole life, then discovering that you’ve been a Mac all along. You’re not inherently broken, you just need to do things differently for smoother performance.

There’s a learning curve, of course, but after decades of mysterious errors and malfunction; I finally have the manual to my operating system, at last, plus a community full of people navigating the same errors and malfunctions.

To quote the autistic autism researcher Jac den Houting, “I wasn’t a failed neurotypical person, I was a perfectly good autistic person.”

Benefits of Late Autism Diagnosis

In an effort to help fight against the scourge of folks messing with the already stressed minds of the newly diagnosed, I’ve prepared a list of seven actual benefits of discovering your neurotype isn’t typical, but autistic.

I hope that it will help arm potential allies by describing some of the internal experiences as well as the benefits; and I also hope that it will help my fellow auties feel more secure in their autistic selves, as well as encouraging those who wonder if they might be autistic to start seriously learning about it—maybe you is and maybe you ain’t, but either way, knowing is a good thing.

A community of (quite literally) like-minded people. It’s amazing to be able to log into an online autism support group after a horrid day and be like, “Had a mega bad public meltdown due to a ridiculously loud noise and bright lights, then had to sit in a dark room and stim out with goo for hours, anyone relate?”—and not only will they relate, but they’ll probably reply with empathetic stories and memes to help cheer you up.
Tools to identify and manage adverse autism traits. Executive functioning issues used to result in my internally mean-girling myself for being “such a ditz,” but now I know that it simply means my autistic brain is getting tired (because it lives in a neurotypical world, which is tiring), and I just need to take a break, maybe go stare at something sparkly for a while (which, like the aforementioned goo, is a helpful tool called ‘stimming’). Goodbye self-hate. Hello self-wisdom.
Tools to identify and maximize positive autism traits. For example, like many auties, when my brain’s happy I can hyper-focus on a chosen task and work very quickly, for a very long time. This is especially common with special interests (SI), so finding a way to make your SI your job is maybe the ultimate maximization of positive autism traits. Other potential areas of strength to maximize: naturally thinking “outside the box,” honesty, passion, visual thinking, and unique (+ uniquely delightful) sense of humor, for starters.
Better ability to advocate for oneself. Now that I have an accurate way to describe my challenges, it’s a hell of a lot easier to explain why my needs are different and what, precisely, they are. For example, now I know that loud and/or bright things really agitate me due to my high sensory sensitivity, their ability to induce a public meltdown is because my brain’s not doing so well in recent years—and autistic meltdowns due to sensory overwhelm are very common, especially when already struggling.

Meltdowns also contribute to the incapacitating state of autistic burnout, which means not being able to depend on one’s brain. So actions taken to limit the overwhelm aren’t me being too particular, it’s protecting my neurological and mental health—so, my life—it’s not only okay to ask for what I need, it’s crucial.
Less confusion. As you may have caught on with all those questions before, I was riddled with confusion before my autism diagnosis. Autism is a neurotype, basically a type of brain; so interacting with the world was very disorienting due to my thinking differently, and further so because I didn’t know that.

I had no idea why technology is the opposite of intuitive, why forms that take others a few seconds make me want to poke my eye out with the pen, why so few people seemed to “speak my language,” etc., and it all added up to me feeling like an alien, like maybe this world just wasn’t built for me. (This is a common viewpoint among autistic people.)

But now I know the latter part is actually true—that the world was indeed built for a different neurotype—those things aren’t further triggered with a lifetime of confusion, anger, and shame. It still frustrates me that we aren’t societally considered, of course; but now that I at least know what I’m frustrated about, those moments feel less…explosive, even despite my currently not being in a great neurological state.
Improved confidence via self-understanding. Knowing why I am the way I am also helps worlds in the self-acceptance department. I’ve been through a lot and still have work to do, both internally and externally, but, day by day, it gets better. I find myself in fewer negative thought patterns around past failures and rejections, and more hopeful about connecting with people, with life, due to this expanded perspective of who I am and what I need.
Paradoxically, feeling more “normal.” It’s so strange that internet bullies so often bring up “you want to feel special” allegations because I actually feel way less original after spending time in the autistic community. Many of my “quirks” are actually just autism traits, and many others are expressions of such, seen displayed by other auties all the time — like doing thissssssssss, for a random example. And it’s awesome. I freakin’ love being able to log on and find thousands of people who actually speak my language, face similar challenges, and just generally get it.

Can orgasms help your endocannabinoid system?

Published on May 12, 2020January 21, 2023 by megglesworthLeave a comment

Meg Hartley for Leafly
Published on May 12, 2020 • Last updated July 28, 2020

What if sufferers of certain health conditions having to do with endocannabinoid deficiency were able to heal through the power of orgasm? That question has been on my mind since reading a 2017 study which hypothesizes that endocannabinoids can play an important role in the sexual response cycle.

Endocannabinoids are cannabinoids that the body produces which bind to and activate cannabinoid receptors, much like THC and CBD in cannabis. Specifically, the above study showed significant increases in the body’s levels of the endocannabinoid 2-AG post-orgasm—which could help contribute to the delightful experience we colloquially refer to as “post-coital bliss.”

So, if you’re trying to improve the functioning of your endocannabinoid system (ECS) and thereby related health issues, should you be prioritizing regular orgasms in your self-care routine? I delved into this question with a couple cannabis experts to find out.

Getting down to raise endocannabinoid levels

Dr. Genester Wilson-King, MD, obstetrician, gynecologist, and cannabis advocate, was also intrigued by the 2-AG study mentioned above. “Endocannabinoids … might play a very important role in the sexual response cycle, leading to maybe a better understanding and treatment of sexual dysfunction,” she said.

When asked if regular orgasms could help ECS function, Dr. Dustin Sulak, D.O., said: “There’s a little bit of evidence supporting this theory, not conclusive; but the ECS does well with similar stimuli that create a short-term strong production of cannabinoids, like exercise.”

I asked Sulak if orgasms could be a “double-whammy” since they stimulate the ECS by both being an enjoyable exercise as well as directly boosting endocannabinoid levels: “Absolutely. Sex [with orgasm] is the double-whammy for sure. It’s a triple or quadruple whammy. It involves touch. In animals, touch and social grooming are strong ways to stimulate endocannabinoid release. I think many people don’t have enough social grooming activities or physically touch each other on a daily basis, but feel better when they do.”

Doc’s orders

So how often should one be taking advantage of these benefits? According to Dr. Sulak, “I would suggest at least once a day doing something that strongly stimulates endocannabinoid activity. And so, perhaps if it’s a day when somebody didn’t have a chance to exercise, or dance, or sing, and the day’s winding down, and they realize, well, it’s time for a different type of practice, I would say go for it.”

Women could actually benefit from more than one orgasm per day. “I think experts in the orgasm field would recommend, especially for women, to have several per day for optimal health. And you know, typically for women, one orgasm can follow the next. And so there’s not a good reason for stopping at one,” he said.

Dr. Wilson-King noted that cannabis can potentially help bring back multiples for some women: “I don’t know that it can help a person who is not multi-orgasmic, but a person who has had multiple orgasms in the past, certainly using cannabis can enhance that.”

But it’s different for the fellas. “What a lot of men don’t realize is that they can absolutely have orgasms without ejaculating,” said Dr. Sulak. “The practice is essentially to approach orgasm very slowly and cautiously, then wait in that space that leads up to orgasm. It starts out feeling like a very narrow space where they kind of get right up to the edge and then fall over. With enough practice that edge can become miles long, and they can remain at the edge and have all sorts of orgasmic feelings and actual contractions in their body without ejaculation.”

Self-lovin’ and wellness

The aforementioned study on 2-AG studied masturbation, and both Drs. Sulak and Wilson-King stressed that one does not need to be partnered to enjoy the benefits regular orgasms can have for the endocannabinoid system.

Dr. Sulak elaborates, saying “I really want to encourage people to not feel like they need a partner to achieve the health benefits. So many people think, what am I going to do right now? Oh, I’ll either jog or maybe I’ll meditate or something. And the idea of a sexual health practice probably doesn’t even occur to most of the readers.”

So, the next time you’ve got a free hour to engage in some wellness, remember Dr. Sulak’s words: “Meditation, running, and masturbation can all produce increased endocannabinoid levels and states of euphoria and mental clarity.”

Cannabis can help release endocannabinoids

While Dr. Wilson-King doesn’t recommend cannabis first for help in getting to orgasm, she said it absolutely can help for some: “Cannabis is a libido enhancer. It helps you to relax, helps you to have maybe more body awareness and sensitivity … Pharmaceuticals are usually single molecular substances that have one effect, whereas cannabis is multifactorial, such that it affects the brain, it affects the body, it affects the vaginal tissue, it affects the sensitivity. The advantage of cannabis is its multi-pronged approach.”

She also noted that cannabis can do wonders for women who deal with painful sex, saying, “It can relax the vaginal muscles, relax the mind, and has the patient focus more on her partner and her body as opposed to worrying about pain.”

As for how much to use, she said, “Using cannabis for sex is generally dose-related, especially for men—lower doses really help, whereas higher doses, you get too stimulated and can’t focus and may have difficulty, men more than women, but low doses are effective for both.”

Dr. Sulak is on the same page. “The goal I think for someone that is really wanting to use this information for health would be to consider using a little THC at a low dose to help them kind of change their gears and compartmentalize the rest of their day, creating a sacred space and a new mindset as they approach the practice. But not to use so much THC that they’re very intoxicated. Rather, they should be trying to use their own equipment—to get high on their own supply,” he said, referencing tapping into one’s own endocannabinoids.

How I Realized There Is No Shame in Being Ill

Published on August 17, 2017December 29, 2022 by megglesworthLeave a comment

Meg Hartley

August 17, 2017

I knew something was seriously wrong the day I could no longer hold up a book on my bus commute. I had routinely been getting sick for years prior, first a few times a year, then doubling over the next few. By the time I started enduring bookless bus rides I was falling ill with what I thought was the flu near monthly.

I became weak and movement started to hurt my muscles. My brain felt like it was filled with cotton. My body became tender to the touch, hurting wherever it held weight. I was so confused when my booty started hurting all the time (from sitting)… I laughed that one off, but at night – when my memory foam felt like concrete and the usual electric pain skyrocketed – it wasn’t something I could stretch into amusing. By the time I started to get answers, I was so sick I was lucky to spend more than a handful of hours vertical a week, an array of other symptoms constantly plaguing me.

I kept it a secret as much as I could for as long as I could. I suppose I thought it was my fault, somehow. At first, I thought that I just had a lowered immune system due to my then great love of beer… even though it didn’t really make sense. Shame makes people do and think stupid shit, it really does.

I had been heading right to bed after work (when I could make it) nearly everyday for about two years before I became homebound. By then I had broken my daily after work beer habit, despite its pain-smashing effects, but continued to fall ill, and with greater frequency. Still, I kept it to myself, faking it as best as I could. It was so gradual. It was also totally invisible back then and I’m naturally a smiler, I pulled off “healthy” most of the time, I think. Faking it also distracted me from the cacophony of symptoms, making it easier to cope.

My friends probably thought I became aloof and flaky. I had taken to never saying anyone’s name so I wouldn’t mix it up or plain forget. I stopped making plans after blaming introversion for bailing at the last minute too many times. I’d reach out on the rare good day and sometimes get lucky, or make a plan at my house (no commute) with alcohol involved, so I could function despite the pain, but I was mostly alone long before I was trapped inside my apartment with no way out.

I started temping around the time I lost my treasured social life. At first it was because I just needed work in my new city of Portland, Oregon; but then I realized that I couldn’t get fired for missing too much work if I switched jobs frequently, as one does in temping. The temping probably didn’t help the shame, being at the bottom of the totem pole for the first time in my adult life. (And at age 30 to salt the wound.)

My first job out of college was a good one, boosted by a big promotion just six months after. And then the recession hit. The office I was a manager at shut down over several weeks, groups leaving the office in tears every few days or so, with us managers leaving last. In addition to trouble from missing too much work, I’d lose two more jobs due to mass layoffs or closures in the next five years – something that created stress, which I’d later learn contributed to the severity of my condition.

The day I realized that I really needed to use my walker on a regular basis, I screamed at a medical ride transport driver to, “Fucking stop the car right now!!” It was an act that startled us both. He had refused to stop at the grocery store by my house, something that had been planned with the company he worked for. I’d even double-checked because I had a bad feeling about it. I had absolutely no budget for a cab and no way to get to the store from my apartment at the bottom of a half-mile hill.

I got out of the car at the top and slammed the door behind me, quickly realizing that my knees were buckling again. By the end of the two minute walk to the store, I was crying from the pain and walking like I was 15 months pregnant with triplets, grabbing onto anything I could to hold me up. But I still didn’t use my walker routinely. Shame.

The day I actually started using it also featured a medical ride driver fight. He had shown up an hour late and then lied to me about it. My symptoms had shot through the roof in that hour waiting outside the doctor’s office, and my legs weren’t holding my weight at all. He at least got me to my pharmacy/grocery stop, and even offered to help – but I was too mad to accept his offer.

So, brilliantly, I tried to fling myself from the car to a nearby grocery cart, or makeshift walker. I pushed against the door with all my might but caught my thumb in the handle, unexpectedly on the side of the door, smashing it real good and immediately changing the skin and nail to purple-black. I fell to the ground, unable to get up on my own. It was a bad day.

I had a book in my hand and new information about a shared genetic mutation in my head the day I realized that I was suffering from the same thing that led to my mother’s death. I couldn’t get the 19-year-old memories of her screaming, “My nerves are shot!” out of my head. How she complained that she couldn’t think straight, even buying tapes to help her failing memory. How she always needed to lay down, saying she was just resting her eyes, but getting tearful when she couldn’t sleep over our noise. How she internalized it all, always feeling guilty for having such a hard time. I believe shame killed her.

I first realized that we shared mental illnesses when I was 19, after a year of intense depression concluded with a mental break. I optimistically attributed the latter to having done shrooms right before, but the fierce storm in my head scared me with its darkness and frequency. The mental break – or spiritual awakening if you asked my philosophy professor – was like a dream, a really good one. But, from the outside, I just went around my small hometown acting like I was a bit odd for five days.

Though I was deeply embarrassed about the event, the storms of depression didn’t come back until about eight years later, a year of job-hunting after that first layoff. The episodes increased over time, keeping pace with my ailing body. Of course, this was also something that I kept to myself, so much shame. I used meditation and mindfulness to keep the depression at bay, but it knows how to sneak-attack me – usually triggered by outside events, though sometimes tiny and not always.

The day I really did something about it was the same day I did something about the shame. It was spring of 2017 when I called 911 for fear of my life. I had gotten seriously horrible news and couldn’t stop thinking about the ways I could leave this life. My apartment suddenly seemed all scissors and pills and high balcony drops. After a terrifying night alone in the ER I was moved to the mental ward, and for the first time, I didn’t keep the depressive episode to myself.

I finally took advice from my writing (we seem to always teach the things we need to learn, eh?) and stopped caring about how others might judge me. This was too important. Too common. Too hidden. Mental health illnesses had already taken my mother, I couldn’t let it fester inside me anymore. I also hoped sharing my story might help someone else feel empowered to get help. I spilled my guts on social media that day, finally sharing about the mental struggle that had tortured me for so long. People were kind and supportive, several reaching out to me with empathy derived from their own challenges. Shame is silly.

The first day I finally shared my physical torture was the day I received my first accurate diagnosis: B12 deficiency, likely starting from birth. (A. Fucking. Vitamin.) I received the second just last month, after all other possibilities had been ruled out: fibromyalgia. A disease without a cure, whose cause isn’t known. However, there’s lots of anecdotal evidence for lifestyle cures; I’ve been eating a clean diet for a couple years, but I’m going to do even further diet changes. Luckily I haven’t been eating my feelings as much since shaking off the shame monkey – a fabulous diet trick that should make this cleanse easier than the last.

I’m frustrated by the potential healing possibilities that I just can’t do right now, like exercising my way through the pain as many people say they’ve done. That’s likely to send me into a flu-like flare that can last for weeks, where all I can do I lay down. They’re positively maddening. I’d give it a shot anyway, but how would I get anything done? My finances are already beyond a wreck and I need to get to the doctor, to get groceries… how do people do it?

I’m not without hope though. In fact, I’m convinced that I’m going to get better. I imagine myself running into the ocean at full speed and diving in, or doing gymnastics again, or hiking up an ancient pyramid; it feels so real. Positive thought isn’t nothing! As for the B12 deficiency damage, I’m taking low-dose Naltrexone, which is said to instigate healing – so let’s hope, send juju. I also now have emergency pills for the depression and have finally found a great therapist. I’m going to be OK.

However, I wonder what would have happened if I was assertive about needing help six years ago. (I’d still be able to walk reliably, that’s for sure.) I hope today is the day that you do something about a symptom of yours, be it physical or mental. Please don’t reason these things away or sweep them under the proverbial rug. It’s so easy to overlook the importance of health when it’s mostly good, but these things can take over your world before you know it. There’s no shame in illness, and there’s no shame in getting help.

Do You Constantly Think and Worry About Your Relationships?

Published on September 28, 2016December 28, 2022 by megglesworthLeave a comment

Tiny Buddha, 2016
By Meg Hartley

“When you say ‘yes’ to others, make sure you’re not saying ‘no’ to yourself.” – Paulo Coelho

Sometimes it’s easy to define ourselves by our roles and relationships.

We can look at ourselves as a daughter, or someone’s employee, or so in so’s husband. These things mean a lot to us, and we often subconsciously use a variety of behaviors and mental constructs to protect these roles and relationships.

It can take form in innocuous ways, like buying clothes you don’t really want or feigning interests in order to fit in. (Go sports team!) But it also affects more serious things, like how we view ourselves, what we think we’re capable of, and what goals we pursue.

A common theme in movies is the mid-lifer who suddenly realizes they’ve made all of their decisions in life to please other people. It’s reflected in the zeitgeist so often for a reason—because it’s a common occurrence, and an easy trap to fall into.

My realization that I was doing this started taking shape with several ah-ha moments over the last several years, but it became palpable during an entrepreneurial workshop almost a year ago.

We all were assigned a personality test to take at home before returning the next morning. Mine said something like: You think with your heart and are excellent at building thriving relationships.

I thought that was a lovely-sounding result, but the next morning I got a bit of a jolt from the woman putting on this portion of the workshop.

“Ah, you’re a blue! You constantly think about yourself in relation to everyone else.”

“I do not,” I replied, embarrassed.

“But you do. What are you thinking about when you fall asleep at night? Your relationships. You wonder if everyone’s okay. You wonder how you affect others. You wonder what they think of you.”

I must have been nodding, because she said, “See? That’s thinking about yourself in relation to everyone else. Their approval means a lot to you, and that’s how it manifests in your mind.”

That irritated me in a huge way.

I ignored her for the rest of the day, fuming about how someone could say something so mean—and because of a silly little test that didn’t say anything about wanting approval! I was still thinking about it when I got home, all riled up with indignance.

Then it hit me. I’m a fan of Jungian psychology. I’m not an expert or anything, but I like the way that dude thinks.

He espouses the philosophy that our irritations and overreactions point to key truths about ourselves; when something or somebody really gets to us, it could be because it’s pointing to a truth about ourselves that we don’t want to see.

I had noted people-pleasing tendencies before, and I had made great strides! I no longer fake-laughed at things that I didn’t find funny.

I no longer thought of others, or their judgments, when making personal style decisions. And I no longer cared about being as thin as others, after struggling with eating disorders for years.

These things were a big deal to me, and it took focused effort to make these changes. I thought I was done! Then some random person goes pointing out the other-focused thought constructs in my brain like she can see them? What the what, man? Pssssch.

I tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend that it wasn’t there. But once something like that is pointed out, life tends to keep pointing it out to you.

I eventually leaned in and decided to do something about it. I’m a lover of meditation and mindfulness in all forms, so invented a mindfulness game of it.

I started watching my mind for other-oriented thoughts, and then I imagined shooting them down with the gun from the 80’s Nintendo game, Duck Hunt. Pew! Pew! I shoot them thoughts right down:

Imagining an argument with a family member: Pew! Pew!

Comparing myself to someone else: Pew! Pew! 

Wondering how I’d explain myself for doing something: Pew! Pew! 

Overanalyzing lack of reactions to my Facebook post: Pew! Pew!

(A few things that don’t count: non-judgmental relationship reflection, hoping people are happy, and forgiving others and myself.)

It might sound silly, and maybe for you it would be, but for me, it’s worked wonders.

It’s helped me find my center. I feel like my whole life I’ve been off, getting tossed about in the storm of others’ wishes, real or imagined; flung around in subtle manipulations, others’ or mine; and thrashed into the ground by judgments, spoken or merely assumed.

The benefits of cultivating a centered perspective like this are immense. For one thing, it leaves us free to cultivate inner-direction—to focus on the things that really matter to us, the things that we love to spend time on, the things that make us sparkle.

I’ve discovered that we can adopt a centered-perspective as homebase. It had been there the whole time, this calm and peaceful mind, this quiet in the eye of the storm.

I had frequently visited it, usually while meditating, or by way of painting, or even via chore lists done in a zen-like fashion; but we can learn to operate from this place all the time.

My mind still swerves into the storm, but less and less. It’s noticeable, and feels odd, far from being a filter for life or a perspective to see it from, like it was before.

And once we spot mental constructs in this way, we stop identifying with them, and they can’t sweep us up like they used to. They lose power as new neural pathways are created, bringing with them new ways of thinking and of approaching life.

Try to spot your other-focused mental constructs going forward. Recognize when you’re dwelling on arguments, comparing yourself to others, or looking for their approval, and shift your focus back to yourself. Find your center.

Know that you’re more than how you affect the people around you. You’re more than what other people think of you. If you can focus a little less on who you are in relation to everyone else, like me, you might find yourself less stressed and far more fulfilled.

My weight made me invisible and I kind of miss it

Published on August 9, 2016December 28, 2022 by megglesworthLeave a comment

by MEG HARTLEY

SheKnows, AUGUST 9, 2016 AT 8:00AM AM EDT

My weight made me invisible and I kind of miss it — Vincent Besnault/Getty Images

A few weeks ago I was at a dinner party, distracted and zoning out a bit, when I realized the person talking was doing so directly to me. I thought maybe I had missed a question, but I quickly realized that he was talking generally, but staring only at me for some reason.

I tried to figure out what was going on. We had just met, so this wasn’t an inside joke or anything. The conversation continued, I remained quiet and he kept looking at only me every time he spoke. What the heck was his deal?

I suddenly remembered feeling like this when I was much younger. A waiter came to the table and only stared at me as he took everyone’s order, and then I was relentlessly teased about him thinking I was cute. “Oh!” I suddenly realized, “This guy’s checking me out, hello.”

I was once accustomed to this innocuous-but-awkward behavior, and to related behaviors that weren’t innocent at all, but it had become rare in the last five years or so — something I attributed to gaining 45 pounds. And you know, I really didn’t miss the attention. I didn’t miss strange men following me home, or suggesting that I might have sex with them for money or touching my person and then accusing me of being grumpy when I asked them to stop.

I became accustomed to the weight, to my new power of invisibility, after years of counting calories since struggling with eating disorders. I loved this new freedom of eating whatever I pleased. This acceptance of food turned into an interest in food and an appreciation for quality food. I moved my body plenty, and I was in pretty good shape. The only difference is that I was a size 12, when most of my life I had forced myself to be a 6. I felt empowered by this acceptance of myself and my body type.

Then one year ago, in an attempt to curb some medical symptoms that were growing out of control, I made a drastic change in my already pretty healthy diet. I went organic and plant-based (with some meats), cut out gluten and dairy and minimized sugar and processed foods to barely any. This winter I also did a candida diet to restore health to my gut — two months of no carbs or sugar at all, not even starchy veggies.

These things, combined with frequent nausea and an improved ability to metabolize food properly, have caused me to drop 30 pounds. I became homebound due to an illness at 176 pounds, and by the time I started venturing out regularly again, I was 145 pounds. It’s been fascinating to be able to compare the experience in such a contrasting before/after kind of a way.

I’ve been primarily confined to doctor’s offices and grocery stores, but I’ve consistently been confused as to why I’m being stared at with weird dreamy smiles or lecherous glares, neither of which I’ve regularly seen since my 20s. Men, in general, seem to be nicer now, often going out of their way to help me; while I’ve noticed an ice from some female strangers that must have been deemed unnecessary during my plump years.

It’s like being chubby was an invisibility cloak, and now it’s gone. I’m still female and aging — so I’ll probably get a new one in no time, but for now, I’m learning to love my ironic gift of weight loss (doesn’t it seem like as soon as we no longer pine for things they become ours?) and doing my best to stop feeling a desire to hide.

Why I stopped giving a shit about my size

Published on December 27, 2015December 27, 2022 by megglesworthLeave a comment

Guest post by Meghan Hartley, 2015

Recently a friend and I were chatting, and the conversation got around to dieting and working out. She was feeling bad because she missed a workout and there we were, eating. I shrugged and honestly said how I feel about the whole topic, “I don’t care anymore and I’ve never felt more beautiful”.

Just a little over a year ago something shifted in me. It was one of the first things I stopped giving a shit about whilst applying the philosophy of “fuck it“. Health is important to me, don’t get me wrong. I just really don’t care what size I am, and I am SO over wishing I was smaller.

The times of my life when I was at my thinnest I was also at my unhealthiest — skinny doesn’t equal healthy for everyone. I remember living at the top of a hill when I was super thin, and how winded I always felt when I finally made it to the top. Totally feeling like I was going to DIIIIIE. I visited that hill last month, ’bout thirty pounds heavier, turned, and enjoyed the view… then realized I felt friggin’ awesome.

If it wasn’t about my health, then what was my desire to be thin about?

It was part of the over-arching issue that was contributing to so many other struggles — the need for approval. It took me a very long time to realize that it really didn’t matter how skinny I was, or how many boys thought I was hot, or how fancy my job was, because I really don’t give a shit about that stuff.

My motivation for succeeding at these things had to do with other people’s opinions of me — and they are really none of my business.

People don’t become happier because they gain the approval of people they hardly know. People become happier when they truly know who they are, and they fully embrace that person.

Back to the conversation with my friend… As I noticed the dude behind the bar nodding with approval at my comment, she said, “you’re the second… um, shapely friend of mine to say something like that this week, it’s making me think.” I was nearly offended, I could feel giving a fuck coming right back at me, it was zooming in my direction… and fast.

Then I suddenly recalled saying something like that to a friend right before I stepped into a new version of myself, a happier, and much more confident one. I realized that this slightly offensive comment was representative of my accomplishing one of my most favoritest things — helping a homie out. I smiled and said, “glad I could help.”

How to Live a Full Life and Smile Your Way Through It

Published on June 27, 2014December 28, 2022 by megglesworthLeave a comment

Tiny Buddha, 2014
By Meg Hartley

“There are only two mantras, yum and yuck, mine is yum.” – Tom Robbins

I recently had my thirty-first birthday. I am officially in my thirties. This leads to reflection; what have I accomplished with my time as an adult?

I recently started over yet again, making this the fifth state I’ve lived in seven years. I have a roommate, half of the stuff in my room is hers, and I’m temping for a living. I was more prosperous at twenty friggin’ three…

…externally.

If you were to see a photo of me at the age of eighteen next to a current photo, you’d notice a few changes. I’m obviously older and have gained some weight. I finally got those braces off, and my skin cleared up nicely.

However, if you were super-perceptive you’d say, “The young one is nervously smiling. She doesn’t look genuinely happy.” You’d be correct.

The young one is bulimic. She doesn’t believe in herself. She has no clue who she is. She’s recovering from the trauma of her mother’s suicide. She babbles about boys, gossip, and that’s about it. After nearly everything she says, she glances at those around her like, “right?”, and a nervous laugh sputters out.

Poor dear. She’s scared to death and she doesn’t even know it.

I, the older and curvier one, am honest to goodness happy. Even though things in life don’t look just how I’d like them to yet, I’m excited to see how it plays out.

I know I can have, be, and do whatever I want; I have faith in myself, the forces of life, and divine timing. I’m enjoying checking out experiences as they arrive, and I feel grateful for what they are teaching my soul. That nervous giggle has transformed into a satisfying and hearty belly laugh.

So how did I go from a fake laugh to a real one, and how can you, too?

1. Embrace rock bottom.

I left my hometown in Alaska to go to college in Vegas, sans the childhood friends that handled my traumatized self with kid gloves. I hid in booze, drugs, and boys the best I could; but depression started bubbling halfway through the year, and quickly ignited to a full-on boil.

I binged and purged daily. I would scratch my skin until it bled, because the pain hurt less than the thoughts it was distracting me from.

It all finally erupted and I realized I had to stop hiding and numbing myself. In facing my depression and self-hatred head on, I was able to rebuild my life from a new foundation. It wasn’t easy, but letting myself hit rock bottom was the key to my growth and healing.

If you are having a difficult time, if it feels like everything is crumbling, it’s okay. Weak structures need to break down in order to be rebuilt with strength.

Release the pieces of you that are no longer self-serving, knowing that you are not your past. You are whoever you choose to be, and going through the hard parts just makes that person all the stronger.

2. Create dreams and goals.

Compared to that first year, the rest of college went by fairly uneventfully. I was soon a college graduate, with a corporate job, living with a man I loved. These things were all dreams up until I got them, but as dreams often go, once they came true I quickly outgrew them. I wanted more.

I spent a lot of time articulating what I wanted, trying situations on in my head like outfits. I came to the conclusion that I wanted to move to California on my own, make another 12K a year, and organize fundraisers for charity. So I did.

Then I wanted more again. That’s how dreams go. Love, appreciate, and enjoy them when they come to fruition. Your heart will eventually stir again, signaling time to conjure up some new ones.

3. Take risks.

After a few successful charity fundraisers, being flown to New York twice in recognition, and writing about it all in a national magazine, I realized Southern California didn’t suit this here Alaskan chick. I decided to move to Colorado. The branch of the corporation I was working for serendipitously shut down shortly after that decision.

I used my severance package to start over in Denver. I didn’t know anyone, and I had never been there. I wanted to see how I’d react to the challenge.

If you never put yourself out there, you’ll never have the space you need to truly grow. Exposing yourself to life’s contrasts is crucial to living it fully, and you can’t do that without involving a little risk.

4. Make the best of any situation.

I thought the lay-offs I witnessed were an isolated incident…it was 2008. My confidence approached arrogance as I surfed into Denver. What I didn’t know is I was riding the first tidal waves of the recession.

I was honest-to-goodness shocked that no one cared about my three years of corporate ladder climbing. Shocked! I tried desperately for a year, getting only one interview out of hundreds of cover letters. It should have been the worst year ever. It was incredibly stressful, don’t get me wrong, but it was also one of the best years yet.

I met some the raddest people I know, soaked up all Denver had to offer, dreamed new dreams, started meditating, and learned that when I sought strength internally, it was always there. It wound up being a year of delightful transformation.

It’s always our choice what we make of any situation. We can stare at our worries and fret; or we can figure out how to enjoy even dire circumstances, while doing our very best to correct them.

When I could try no longer, I had to head back home to Alaska. I could have done so with my tail betwixt my legs, but I went tail a waggin’ and my chin held high.

5. Face yourself.

Returning to my small hometown was really challenging. I felt like everyone thought they knew me, even though I’d been gone for nearly a decade. I hated the feeling of trying to overcome these preconceived notions; yet at the same time, I was projecting old experiences onto others right back, assuming I knew who they were.

I felt confined, and defined. My joie de vivre eventually faded, slowly, almost too slow to notice; but by the time I left I could barely summon a spark.

I felt incredibly alone, like the only person I had to turn to was myself—which was okay, because turning to face ourselves is exactly what we have to do to overcome the darkness.

Shadow work, or “casting a light on your dark side,” is best done during tough times. Think about how why things are so dark; how did you contribute to it? Ask yourself if you have patterns in your behaviors, thoughts, or beliefs that are getting in your way.

What emotions are you experiencing? Isolate them, and then lean in to them, really feel them. This will help you process them, and only then will they be released, allowing you to move on.

6. Truly and wholly love yourself, all of yourself.

I’ve messed up, many, many times. I chose the proverbial scenic route, for sure. I haven’t even scratched the surface of the missteps I’ve made. You know what? I love myself for it. Those “mistakes” have led me to a place of true self-understanding and knowledge. We can only ever truly love what we truly know.

Embrace your detours, as they are life’s clearest education. We may not choose to learn the hard way in the future, but we should never regret our past. Own it.

Apply the wisdom that you have gained from trying experiences to create awesome ones. Most importantly, have a sense of humor about it all; the hard times, the great times, your achievements, and your shortcomings. They make you you, and you are beautiful.

So I sit here, thirty-one, six months into starting over in Portland Oregon, nary a possession to my name, with a sense of fearless excitement about what’s coming. I live to grow, and I grow to live. I am open to whatever experience life has in store for me, ready to get a great laugh at whatever’s coming next.

How Losing Someone’s Approval Can Set You Free

Published on May 14, 2014December 28, 2022 by megglesworthLeave a comment

Lifehack, 2014
By Meg Hartley

I recently read about an athlete who made it all the way to the Olympics despite loathing their chosen sport. They committed their entire life to seeking one tiny, yet colossal, sentence—I’m proud of you. At some point, we all have someone we want to please, whose approval means the world to us.

I have an incredibly clear memory of the person I wanted approval from telling me I was intelligent, the kind of memory that stays crystal clear because you’ve recalled it so many times. I had parroted someone’s opinion about buying a Canadian soda. “We should really support our own economy,” ten-year-old me said. I had no idea what that meant, but I was looked at with approval, and my heart glowed. It felt so darn good.

I loved that feeling. The approval of my hero. It was nothing like the Olympic athlete, but I made some very big decisions based what might make them proud. I was hugely affected by wanting their approval.

Four months ago this person removed me from their life. It hurt. A lot.

However, in life there is rarely hurt without growth. I recently reflected on myself and my behavior since then and noticed something—I feel free.

After a period of denial and upset, I accepted that this is just how it is. I cannot have their approval. They don’t “get” me. They never have, and they probably never will. It’s not my fault, and it’s not their fault either—it simply is what it is.

This realization made me see how often I was modifying myself according to the thought, “what would they think?” It was shockingly frequent. This person had become an archetype for all kinds of people, and I’d been censoring myself constantly to avoid judgement. I suddenly felt like I’d been a half-assed version of myself my whole life!

I’d been using the desire for approval as an unconscious excuse for hiding. My excuse was gone as soon as I realized it existed (as often happens with our shadow aspects). I had no one to point at for holding me back from being truly wholehearted.

It was time to authentically step into myself and stop hiding who I am from others. Even if that person seems likely to be met with judgement. Even if what I really want to do with my life is incredibly intimidating and involves being extremely vulnerable.

Sometimes I miss the ol’ days when I had surrounded myself with judgement-protecting walls. When I could think to myself, “you can’t judge me, psssch, you don’t even know me.” It was safe there with no one seeing “the real me”—safe, and maddeningly, suffocatingly constricting.

Are you hiding? I hid in approval-seeking. Do you hide behind a veil of aloofness? A carefully crafted image? Perhaps well-timed jokes keep people from seeing you? Maybe you hide behind judgment. We all have our ways, and it can be really scary to let them go.

The thing is though, as long as we prevent ourselves from being truly seen, we will never be truly understood. Connection with others won’t be wholly authentic, and we will edit ourselves because we fear potential thoughts in other people’s heads. It’s really pretty silly.

It’s okay to not be accepted. In fact, you will never be accepted. If you finally gain the approval that was so dearly wanted, it will be lost from someone else. (Yourself, likely.) You will also miss out on connecting with people who really do see you, and who think you kick ass.

A messy falling out isn’t necessary to be freed from wanting someone’s approval. You don’t even have to tell them that you no longer care what they think of you. Just go ahead and do what makes you happy, be unapologetically yourself, and go for the things you really want in life. Do your thing, and let them do theirs.