I talk a lot about looking for the glimmers of hope in life.

But the truth is - sometimes it’s exhausting to look for the glimmers.

It’s hard to spot the glimmers when they are hidden behind the scary and dark parts of life.

It’s time consuming to search for the glimmers when it would be easier to just give up and maybe look for them tomorrow.

It’s a big investment of energy to look for the glimmers when there is a possibility that we might not find any.

I get it.

But let me tell you a little story about a bear.

Recently I was fortunate enough to take an Alaskan cruise with my family and although I looked forward to every part of the vacation, the part I was most looking forward to was our full day sail through Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve.

There would be glaciers.
There would be seals.
There would be sea otters.
There might even be bears.

A park ranger joined our ship early that morning and confirmed that while there was lots of wildlife to see, we needed to “put in the work to find them.”

Instantly I thought of those silly glimmers of hope I’m always writing about on this page.

The ranger went on to give us some tips for spotting wildlife.

“You need to be patient.”
“You need to look around you.”
“You need to remember they will probably be smaller than you would expect because of how far away they may be.”
“But if you are committed, your efforts will pay off.”

And if that isn’t a metaphor for finding the glimmers of hope in life, I don’t know what is.

So, I went to work.

I donned my cozy leggings and a sweatshirt, wrapped myself in a comfy blanket, put on my winter hat, and fastened the binoculars around my neck.

Then I stood on my balcony and followed her tips.

I was patient.
I looked around me.
I was committed.

But I didn’t find any bears.

Seals danced and played just off the edge of our ship to the delighted squeals of me and all the other passengers perched on their own balconies.

And when dozens of sea otters floated by us, holding hands with each other, carrying their babies on their bellies, and splashing through the water, we all cheered and pointed and took lots of videos.

But still no bears.

I decided to take a break and go for a walk in search of refreshments and to see the glaciers from the bow of the ship - a spot open to passengers only on Glacier Bay day.

I enjoyed my peach Bellini with a float of Patron and marveled as I soaked in the natural beauty surrounding me.

Then I returned to my balcony and went to work again.

And there it was.

A little brown speck on the water’s edge.

I zoomed in closer with my binoculars and started to convince myself that it was just a rock.

Then the rock moved.

And a bear’s face came into focus.

“A bear!!!” I shouted.

“Where where?!” my husband and sons asked as they started to try to find it with their binoculars.

“You found a bear?” passengers from nearby balconies shouted over.

News of the bear spread quickly as people started sharing with each other. “Look! Some lady over there found a bear!”

Our whole port side of the ship spent those next few moments watching that silly bear just sitting on the edge of the water.

A passenger a few balconies down shouted up to me “thank you!!!”

I shouted back “thank YOU!” because I’m weird and awkward sometimes.

But the truth is, I was so thankful that my efforts had paid off and that I was able to share it with others.

After we headed out of Glacier Bay, we headed up to the pool deck and later to dinner. That bear was the topic of conversation everywhere we went.

“Did you see the bear today?”
“Some lady found a bear. Did you see it?”

And that’s the thing about the glimmers of hope.

When we find them not only do they brighten our own day but if we share them with others the lasting ripples of their impact go so much further.

So if you are in need of some glimmers of hope today, maybe right now is a good time to be patient, look around you, and be committed to being some lady that finds a bear.

And then when you find the glimmers - share them with others.

Because all of us are here - scanning the horizon for some sign of a glimmer of hope to brighten our day.
​

Oof.

It has been a rough couple of weeks over here. I won’t go into the details but let’s just say that I’ve been trying really hard to take my own advice. I've been telling myself things like:
 
​“Hold on to hope.”
“Look for the glimmers of hope.”
“Don’t be your own biggest critic.”
“Keep going.”


And, it’s hard.
This morning when my alarm went off, I hit snooze about two dozen times. Then my inner chatter started and I really really REALLY wanted to just pull the covers up over my head and hide from the world for 4 more hours. Since it's school vacation week and my sessions start later on Wednesdays, no one was counting on me to be anywhere or do anything.

But then I remembered what I told someone the other day when they asked me "What do you do to take care of yourself?"

My answer is always the same these days when someone asks me that question. I take care of myself by going to the gym. I pop on my headphones, tune out the world, and focus on me and what my body can do that day. 

So, I pulled myself out of bed and went to the gym.

Even though I wanted to hide from the world.
Even though I wanted to sabotage myself.
Even though I wanted to  hibernate.

I went because I realized that even though no one else was counting on me, "I" was counting on me.

I am counting on myself to keep doing the things that I need to do to feel grounded.

It's so easy in the stormy phases of life to put our own needs on the back burner. It's so tempting to avoid the things that always make us feel more like ourselves. 

So, if you are like me and are on the struggle bus right now and are thinking about avoiding the things that make you feel like you...

don't. 

You still need to make yourself a priority.
You deserve to be a priority in your own life.
You can be there for others AND be there for yourself.

“If you wanted to break your father, you did.”


I stared at the text from my mother, yet another reminder that my father’s feelings matter more than anyone else’s feelings could ever matter.

Yet another attempt to control me with guilt and shame. 
 It didn’t matter that I had nothing to do with the thing she thought would “break” him.
It didn’t matter that it was his own actions that led to someone else calling him out on his behavior. 
It didn’t matter that I wasn’t involved. 

It didn't matter because for as long as I can remember, my feelings don’t matter.
My needs don’t matter.
My truth doesn’t matter. 
They never did.
They never will—not to them. 
Because when you are raised by a narcissist, the bad stuff is always your fault.

Even after finally finding the courage to close the door on a relationship with my father, he still gets to reach into my life via my mother and try to push those deeply rooted buttons of guilt that were planted there in my childhood.

But as I stared at the text message, I noticed my heart wasn’t racing like it used to when my mother would scold me for my father’s feelings being hurt. 
My face wasn’t red with anxiety like it used to be in a situation like this. 
At that moment, I realized her words no longer filled me with fear or rage. 
Instead, I felt pity.

I felt pity for her that she never found the strength to walk away from his abuse, manipulation, and isolation. 
I felt pity for her that she made a choice I can never imagine making as a mother—choosing my partner over my children. 
I felt pity for her that she never could find the way toward a relationship with me, my sister, or her grandchildren. 

But bigger than the pity is a feeling of hope. 
Yes, hope. 

I’m finding that every time I hold a boundary with my parents, every time I shine the light on their toxic and manipulative behavior, every time I use my voice to shatter the false illusion they so desperately try to build about the reality of living with them as parents, I feel my hope for the future swelling.

I have hope that my children will never experience the kind self-doubt I have experienced because they know my love is unconditional.  

I have hope that my children will never have crippling anxiety stemming from their childhood and not knowing whether their parents are so drunk that they pass out in the middle of a sentence, tear a phone from a wall, or hurl insults at them. 

I have hope that my children will find partners who don’t have to bear witness to the darkest places in life—the ones that happen when old traumas get triggered—because we are raising them in an open, loving, and safe home. 

I have hope that my children will always know I love them, their partners, and their children with all of my heart. 

I have hope that the chains of guilt, shame, and obedience that have tethered me to my parents for all these years will one day be completely broken, and I will be completely free. 

****
Originally published in November 2021 by Her View From Home HERE