For Introverts Entering a Post-Quarantine World

For the introverts of the world, myself included, quarantine has felt like heaven. Yes, we’ve missed hugs and the freedom to run to the store for one little thing. But, generally, it’s been lovely to stay at home, reading, puttering, even working - though quietly, in pajamas, without a single fluorescent light. 

One client lamented, “I dread commuting again, sitting on a train with all these other people talking, their music leaking out of earbuds. Then having to give people at work my attention on their terms. I didn’t realize how much I love working when I can get into a flow state and just stay there until I come to a natural stopping point.”

Another shared, “It’s really my kids. I don’t want them to miss out on opportunities, so I take them to their after school classes and games. It feels like way too much, getting them ready, making sure they have their clothes and equipment, slogging through traffic. Then I have to talk to the other parents. It’s just small talk, passing time. I know most people like that. For me, though, it’s exhausting. I’d rather sit in my car and listen to a podcast. Am I being anti-social?”

No. No, she is not anti-social (or more accurately, anti-socializing). She is just an introvert - someone who feels fueled by alone time and prefers socializing 1-1 or in small groups. We introverts are exhausted by focusing on externals - whether traffic or small talk or tracking where little Devon’s soccer shoes might be. 

Because we tend to be quiet and very unlikely to join a planning committee, the world tends to be created by and for the needs of extroverts. If introverts planned spaces, restaurants would be divided into small rooms where one table of guests could eat alone and control the music in their own little haven. Gym’s would have limits on membership and a headphones-only music policy. Everyone with a desk job would work from home. All groceries would be delivered. In other words, the world would look a lot like it has during this past year, but all the time.

If you are introverted, you might be dreading (or reluctantly facing) a busier, faster, noisier, chattier world. You might think you have no power to change that. And, as far as other people are concerned, that’s probably true. But, you might have more agency over your own time than you imagine. If a re-entry feels like just too much, I would share with you what I have asked my own clients to consider…

1. What assumptions do you hold about “what I have to do” that feels like too much engagement with the world? If you didn’t have to do those things this past year, do you really have to do them now?
2. Can you let friends know that while you love them, you are committed to doing less on an ongoing basis after seeing how restorative it has been this past year? I let people know that I always want to be invited, but might accept an invitation only now and then. All plans, except those that require advance payment, are flexible. Anyone involved can cancel any time, for absolutely no reason. Friends who need a firmer commitment have either fallen away or they know to invite me only when they also have someone else for company.
3. Having shown your boss/colleagues/clients that you are highly productive working at home, can you negotiate to come in to work only when a face-to-face is necessary?
4. If you’re a parent, can you give yourself permission to sit in your car or go for a walk instead of making small talk with the other parents when your kid is taking a lesson or playing a sport?
5. What else have you discovered this past year that you would rather not give up? 
6. What do you need to believe about yourself or the world in order to give yourself permission to live in a way that honors who you are and how you are built? 
7. If shame or guilt gets in the way, what would help you find more self-acceptance? What would allow you to be comfortable in your own skin, even if others don’t understand you?
8. If you took small, manageable steps toward safeguarding your solitude, how would that impact your relationship with yourself? Would you trust yourself more? Would you like yourself better? Given that you have to live with yourself for the rest of your life, how important does it feel to live with someone who you really trust and like? 

Leaning Out - Week 9

My new schedule continues to be soul-feeding. I think the last time I had this kind of spaciousness in my life was in my twenties, maybe in college, when I still lived at home, and my "job" was reading great literature and then writing papers that called forth new levels of understanding, not just of the books and poems I studied, but also of myself as I related to those works.

Then, as now, much of my time was a meditation. I just didn't know it. Writing is, after all, very much a way of witnessing our own thoughts. So much of the time I only have a vague intuition about things until I write them down. This is also very much how therapy works. Clients begin to understand themselves better as they say out loud the things that have been floating around their minds. Making thoughts more concrete brings clarity. It helps if the words are met with kindness and interest.

Seventeen days ago, I was in Los Angeles, having a socially distant visit with my sister and her family. Checking email, a note from my friend and publisher, Jeff, announced that my first volume of poems was live on Amazon. It was the day before my 56th birthday. I had started writing poetry in college, at the tender age of 20. It was wild to have this book arrive some 36 years later. 

I could not have done it any sooner. Writing in my twenties was fraught with anxiety and insecurity. If people responded well, I felt validated. If not, I was doused with shame. This is a terrible way to make art. Every creation becomes a plea for approval.

The inside work I have done all these years to love myself no matter what allowed me to write for the sake of writing, for the love of finding just the right image or rhyme, to tickle my brain and touch my heart by putting pen to paper and waiting for the muse, who I like to call my "inner narrator" to begin dictating.

I am so delighted to share the book with anyone who finds resonance. And I'm fine that many will not. Poetry, of all things, is not exactly popular these days. But it is so much fun to find my fellow word-nerds and geek out together.

But I digress. These stretches of time could so easily be filled now with marketing the book. At least three people have asked me, so how are you going to sell it? Just the question creates tension, as I feel my muscles readying to pounce on some opportunity as though I were playing musical chairs and the seats were becoming scarce. 

I remind myself that this is the farthest thing from the truth. I have taken 36 years to put this work in the world because that's how long it took. I have an ongoing agreement with my publisher that neither of us pressures the other to get anything done. And still the book is here, solid, real. 

I trust the same will happen with marketing. I've made an author page on FB and ordered copies to share with local booksellers. I think that's more than enough for right now. Maybe, when the time feels right, I will do a virtual reading. Maybe serendipity will bless me with a friend who wants to spread the word, just as serendipity led me to Jeff who made the publication process such a dream.

I am writing new poems - including one below that I penned at UCLA, my alma mater, sitting just where I used to write in my twenties, which was such a kick. I'm writing my non-fiction, how to love yourself/memoir, practicing the same gentleness, never pressuring myself to write, but still finding myself drawn to the computer on nearly all of my non-working days, letting what's in my head become concrete, knowing that later, I will find a shape and a structure, maybe with the help of a genius editor I haven't met yet.

Today I felt pulled to do very little. I spent most of the day in my backyard, enjoying the (finally) crisp, fall air, reading Leigh Bardugo novels and watching hummingbirds, towhees, house finches, and blue jays snacking at the feeders I've gotten, now that we are cat-less. Between stretches of reading, I cooked and ate, did a little restorative yoga, and not much else. 

I suspect that tomorrow, or after another day of restorative puttering and reading, I will feel an urge to write again, maybe a poem, maybe more of the book. But the amazing thing is living within these long pockets of time without any pressure or stress, following whatever whim comes along. It's like being a kid again.

Here's my poem, written at UCLA, the day before my birthday along with illustrative photo. I hope you enjoy it, but no worries if it's not your cup of tea.

This is My Breast

The sculptor did not name her.
Clad in white, presiding over a pale blue pool,
we christened her: This is My Breast,
patron saint of meeting places.
 
The bells tolled on the hour
signaling convergence.
The emergence of friendly faces
between classes, rallying
 
for a march on the coffee house;
for an impromptu poetry reading;
for a date to sit on the quad,
calculating the angle of the boys’
 
behinds, and surmising the size
of their shoes. We wore mid-thigh skirts
and sky-high heels, clinging tops that cried,
“This is my breast! This is my breast!”
 
As though we too were nameless.

Leaning Out - Six Weeks In

My last post was a celebration of my decision to work a new schedule: four days on, ten days off. It was also a send off for myself, into unknown territory. Like all of the big, life-enhancing changes I've made over the years, this one started with a leap of faith. I didn't know for sure if I would still make enough money to cover my bills. I didn't know if I would feel more creative, feel more rested, feel more centered (which is what I hoped). I just knew that what I had been doing wasn't working. I watched my beloved mentor, Robyn thrive in a slow-lane, work-less life. And I decided to join her.

The first two weeks I had off, I felt drawn to home projects - things that I'd put off, some for years. In 2006, I installed shelves in my closet, but didn't have the right tools. So the screws anchoring the shelves in place along one wall were never stable. It was one of those little things that gnawed - not a significant part of my day, but there, annoying, day after day. I fixed that.

I got a sewing machine, tired of hemming by hand, especially as my eyesight changes. Plus, I wanted to make my own COVID masks so the inner lining would be soft and comfy. I ordered anti-microbial fabric for the outer layer and the filtering inner layer. Then I cut up an old, cotton pillow case, washed a thousand times, and used that for the lining. I measured and adjusted for my face size and shape, then my husband's. We have masks now that are so much easier to wear.

I fretted in those two weeks, that I wasn't writing. I've had a book in mind for many years, self help, teaching others what I've learned about self care, what I share with my own clients. I was convinced I had undiagnosed ADD made worse with menopause. I wondered if a little Ritalin or Adderall might help me focus. I wondered if maybe it was time to let go of the idea of writing a book. Maybe it would feel better to stop struggling to get my thoughts onto the page.

Despite the fretting, I honored the promise I made to myself to spend my time off following where my heart led me. I napped. I played video games. I read. I watched British television. I didn't know at the time that I needed those first two weeks to tend to the house projects that had been pulling for my attention, resting and entertaining myself between painting and drilling and sanding. I needed two weeks not to think, but just do the kind of manual labor that leaves you sweaty and happy, because things actually get finished.

I needed time to stop thinking, planning, tracking, and responding to emails, phone calls, and texts. In the quiet that followed, I could see clearly how distracted and fragmented my time had become. No wonder it was hard to focus. I had been like a pinball, pinging from one bumper to another, all the dinging and ringing making it hard to think.

Just before my third stretch of ten days began, I had an online visit with a psychiatrist to help determine whether I really have ADD. My test results had been inconclusive. I might have a very mild case. Not enough to warrant the risk of taking medication. 

In our talk, he wanted to know why focus felt so important now after 56 years of managing life pretty well. I explained I have wanted to write a book about my work. I told him what I've been teaching clients about self love and how it is healing insecurity and anxious attachment wounds for my clients. He was very supportive. He said, "I hope you find I way to get it done. We need that book."

Sometimes, a little encouragement is all it takes. On my next day off, I sat down with Scrivener, a tool I had heard so many good things about - especially for people who need help getting their thoughts organized. I wrote an outline, and turned the headings into chapters. The next day I took all the writing I had done in the past - several beginnings without endings, and I put them in a folder to refer to and draw from. On the third day, I took out my calendar and calculated how many words I would need to write per day to finish a first draft in a year - 400 writing only on my days off. On day four, I wrote the introduction. Days 5-10 I wrote more than 400 words each day - sometimes 600, sometimes 1000. 

When I found myself going off on a tangent, I copied the meandering paragraphs into the "Notes" window, beside the main writing window. I had no worries about losing something important. It now had a home where I could find it later. And then I kept writing. I have never felt so focused before.

Each day I'm not seeing clients, I pick up wherever I left off. I've never been able to do this so consistently before. Scrivener is a big part of it. But bigger are these long blocks of time without interruption, knowing I have auto-responders on every form of communication, so I don't have to check compulsively to see if anyone needs me. I float along these slow moving rivers of time, writing, napping, exercising, cooking, gardening, cleaning, and not much else. 

I feel zero pressure to get anything done because there is plenty of time. I can sew until I finish making my new Ukulele case. Did I mention I got myself a Ukulele to help with some arthritis? No? Oh, well that happened too. 

I can write till my 400 or 1000 words are done. I can walk the neighborhood for an hour or longer when the air quality is good. Or I can pop on a 20-minute YouTube workout if I need to stay inside. I can nap every day - essential as the summer heat lingers into fall, and my hot flashes flare at night.

I don't feel like I have ADD now because there is time to sit with one thing until it is done or until I am at a good stopping point. On the days I see clients, I am utterly present for them. Nothing is pulling at me. I cook up a bunch of food on the Sunday before work starts, so I can grab lunch or snacks on my breaks. I have time to take care of myself in ways I didn't even know I needed before.

Today I checked my total word count in Scrivener, 14,684 words completed. I expect the first draft will be between 80,000 and 120,000, so I'm more than a tenth of the way in. And it feels easy so far.

I don't think I'm alone. I think most of us feel scattered and fragmented between the demands of work and family. I think we are so tired that when we have time off, all we can do is stare into a screen, reaching for the dopamine hit of likes and hearts or falling into the rabbit hole of the latest political shit show. I think we are tired and lonely for our very own company. I think we have become afraid to listen to our own thoughts, knowing we might find out just how exhausted and dissatisfied and utterly off track we feel. 

I know you may not have the same choices I have - to schedule your time as you might need to. Our society is not structured for the wellbeing of its members. We still live in a world of vasselage - working according to precepts developed to keep the coffers of kings and lords filled - though the kings and lords today are called CEO's and shareholders.

By living differently, I hope I am doing more than just taking care of my own self. I hope I am gently fomenting rebellion. It doesn't have to be so hard. We really don't need more stuff. We need more time, more connection, more kindness, more slowness.

Be gentle with yourselves, my loves.

Leaning Out - The Life Changing Magic of Working Less

Image courtesy of Pexels on Pixabay

We are immersed in a cultural belief that working hard is ethical, moral and good. A corollary is that having a lot of stuff, especially the newest, shiniest stuff, is also good. This is the mantra of capitalism. Work hard. Buy stuff. Then you will be happy.

I have never found this to be true. The shiniest stuff always loses its sheen. We call this “hedonic adaptation.” More is never enough. We keep chasing after happiness and security that only exist in some future that we never fully arrive at. 

This is good for corporations - people who sell stuff and their investors. We work hard - for THEM. They employ us to make and sell stuff, creating the illusion that we are lucky to be working at all. We produce and perform so that when our performance is reviewed every year or so, we may be blessed with a raise that, maybe, if we’re lucky, keeps up with inflation. 

We are exhausted from the hours of work and the anxiety of wondering if we are working hard enough or long enough. We compare ourselves to the coworker who arrives before 7am and stays till 7pm. Then we go home and seek solace on Amazon. We comfort ourselves with a new toy, a gadget for the kitchen, a bigger, better or faster version of something we already have that’s just fine. 

I used to do this with books. I kept shelves and shelves of books. I had been an English major. My books were part of my identity. I was a reader. I was intelligent. I read high-brow literature. I was special and interesting and good enough. Then I had to move seven times in two years. That cured me of my book habit. Turns out I was still special, interesting, and good enough.

In my forties, I had bought-in to the work long and hard ethic. I had worked my way through grad school and worked three different internships to get my MFT license as quickly as possible. I then learned all I could about marketing and began filling my practice. After a few years, I began teaching other therapists to market themselves. I taught classes at my local rec and parks. I began working with a programmer to create an online directory. I hired an intern to work for me. I was “on” all the time, attending networking events, planning my next meeting, session or class.

Then I broke, thank goodness.

I had been ignoring repetitive stress injuries for years. Now I could not ignore them. The pain was immobilizing. I had been stuffing down frustration and irritation when others didn’t meet my perfectionistic standards. Instead of easing my expectations or teaching others how I wanted things done and why, I just did everything myself. 

I let go of the intern. I let go of the directory. I stopped teaching. I stopped networking. I reduced my client hours. I did not lean in. I leaned out. And something amazing happened. I felt better. I aimed for 12 sessions a week, working Monday-Wednesday. I worked about 70% less, but my income only dropped about 10%, then quickly recovered as my skills and presence improved and I could charge more. I had been doing all that extra work for no reward. 

I focused on healing my body. I learned how to putter and meander. I felt my anxiety and drive to get things done gradually ebb as I settled into a slower lane. I could hear myself think again. I could feel my feelings. I could give myself rest and care that filled me up so well that I became a much better therapist, a better friend, and a better spouse. Ahhhh.

In the spring of 2020, I forgot those lessons for a while. As COVID shut down the economy, I lost some clients and reduced fees for others. I began working more again. And by June, I realized I was back in high-stress mode, cranky, frustrated, and suddenly craving junk food - my drug of choice and the thing I had used in the past to band-aid over distress instead of responding tenderly to it.

I planned a vacation, driving 6 hours to see my beloved sister and have some play time. Though it was wonderful, it was not enough. On the long drive home, I realized I had slipped into my old way of managing anxiety - working harder. It didn’t work then, and it wasn’t working now.

I decided to try something that my own therapist had done - shifting to an every-other-week work schedule. This week is my first week seeing clients from Monday to Thursday. Friday will begin a ten day stretch of time where I unplug from everything. I have auto-replies ready to go so clients know when I will be back to work. For ten days, twice each month, my time will be my own. I will be able to follow my inner compass, to nap when I am tired, eat when I am hungry, read or write when I feel inclined, take walks once the weather cools down.

I know I am privileged to be working for myself in a field where I can do this. I also know that we must, each of us, be the change we want to see in the world - to whatever degree that is possible. I used to think that living this way - slowly, inwardly - was just not an option. I had bought in to the notion that in order to survive I would have to go along with the cultural setup, work my 40+ hours, and find a way to be happy with a weekend off (in which there was laundry and shopping and cleaning to do). But each time I have taken the risk of rejecting these cultural norms, wonderful things happen. 

So I am leaping again, not just for my own wellbeing, but to walk my talk and model self care that is expansive and exquisite. I am choosing to have less stuff so I can have more time - time being something that we can never make more of. 

I am thrilled at the prospect of allowing my mind and body extended periods of rest and unstructured time to recharge my energy and creativity. Last week I just had a few clients - people I had not yet moved to the new schedule. Even so, the spaciousness of the week was magnificent. I read a lot. I napped. I puttered. I let go of rigidity about home-maintenance. 

There are projects to do and organizing that would make life easier. But with long stretches of time, I feel no pressure to get things done before my next commitment. Out of this ease comes a natural arising of desire to do or not do. Last week I was delighted to have spontaneous urges to write about my work, trusting that whatever came up would eventually be part of a book or a class - but not needing to know that or control it in advance. 

I trust that in the coming weeks, I will feel that same spontaneous pull to organize and clean, to work on the projects that need tending. I trust that rest itself and unstructured time are the fertile soil of these other pursuits. I have heard my beloved therapist describe how this is for her, and she has never steered me wrong. I have felt this on a smaller scale, when I first cut back to working three days a week. I am looking forward to seeing what unfolds from this new decision to do less.

We are in a time of change - forced change as the planet responds to our unbalanced work ethic - our bizarre drive to fill the air, the oceans and the landfills with ever more polluting stuff. I hope that in making this personal change for my own self care I inspire you to think about how you might do less and thrive. Time is the one commodity that is limited. To paraphrase Mary Oliver, what is it you want to do with your one wild and precious life?

The Restorative Power of Hugs (with bonus visualization)

The Benefits of Hugging

Hugs have the power to restore us emotionally. They calm the nervous system. Think about the last time you gave or received a really good hug. How did your body feel? You probably got a nice boost of ocytocin and some of the natural opioids your brain makes.

A hug can also release feelings you've been holding inside. If you've been putting on a brave face for your kids or your colleagues, but inside you're feeling depressed, lonely, or worried, you are so not alone. Alongside the pandemic of COVID-19, is another, silent pandemic - grief and post-traumatic stress.

You may not be acknowledging your grief - especially if it seems insignificant compared to those who have lost loved ones. But there is cumulative grief - grief from a million tiny losses that adds up over time. And it may be that a good hug would allow you the relief of a much-needed cry.

Along with the emotional benefits of hugging, there are physical benefits too. Research reveals that hugging decreases stress and boosts the immune system.

Can a Self-Hug Work?

So what do you do if you're quarantined alone or you live with people who you don't hug for one reason or another?

Fortunately, you brain comes equipped with everything you need to enjoy a hug, even when you're on your own. They key is activating your imagination through your senses. This is akin to visualizing - but the sense you're working with is not sight. It's touch.

If you allow yourself to really engage in a true hug, with all the warmth and care you would give a beloved friend, you can get all the benefits of a hug from someone else. The key is really feeling the feels. To that end, I created a guided visualization and a how-to guide (which includes information on dealing with a skeptical inner critic). You can access the guide for free here.

https://julielevin.podia.com/a-warm-hug

I hope you develop a self-hugging practice that leaves you feeling calmer, more relaxed, and healthier.

Mother's Day - When Your Mom was NOT the Greatest

Every year I post a little something on FB for the people who were not mothered very well. It can be irritating or even painful to see all the memes and posts about wonderful mothers. The ones I really hate are the admonishing ones, disguised in fake sweetness. They usually start with "Your mother..." as if they know her. They don't.

My mother was deeply preoccupied with looking good. Usually this manifested in manic dieting and house cleaning. Everything had to be perfect on the surface. We didn't discuss what was below the surface, not my dad's drinking or my sister's drug use. When I needed to talk through my feelings, my mother responded, "You think too much." Because that's helpful.

She wasn't a bad person, just insecure. Deeply insecure. This made her controlling. She used money and gifts as bargaining chips, to ensure her children needed her, because she didn't trust that we would love her (and boy, didn't that become a self-fulfilling prophesy).

She was too lost in her own thoughts to pay much attention to things like homework, grades, or nurturing my skills and interests. I got her attention when I made her nervous, usually by eating something that might make me gain weight. We spent hours talking about diets and exercise and food in general. It was her favorite topic. I could not do basic math as a kid. No one helped me memorize the times tables. But I knew how many calories were in a serving of low-fat cottage cheese.

It's never black and white though. The worst parents can be tender at times. My mother had shining moments. There was the night I came home crying because my boyfriend was going away to college. She was up late, probably having a hot flash. We sat on the couch and she let me cry on her shoulder. She was glad I could love someone so deeply.

There was the time in my twenties she brought be soup when I had a terrible cold. We had been in a huge fight and stopped talking. Just when I was at my most miserable, she knocked on my apartment door, a warm pot in her hands.

She didn't want to be a bad mother. She didn't hate her kids. She was just a kid herself, in a grown woman's body. She wanted to feel like she mattered, like she was good enough, like she was special and important - all the things her own mother failed to instill in her.

While we all have those same needs to some degree, my mother's history and makeup led to narcissism - the grandiose defense against shame. She could never admit when she hurt me - or anyone. She could never apologize with true regret and sincerity. She could never examine her feelings, thoughts or behaviors honestly. Without that capacity to look at herself with compassion instead of self-judgment, there was no possibility of change.

I haven't spoken to her in five years. At first it was anger that stopped me. She changed her will in an obvious move to punish me because I was learning to set boundaries with her. She didn't like that.

In that first year without her, I realized that I had allowed myself to depend on the promise of an inheritance because I'd bought into her story, that I would never be able to live comfortably without her help. It turned out to be a great gift - to make the changes I needed to make in my own earning and spending, while I was still young enough to save for the future.

It took about two years to work through the previous fifty years of hurt and anger, to understand the profound neglect I felt was real - even though I always had shoes and food and school. The neglect was emotional, because she was so rarely present.

Over the next three years, the pain has subsided. I've finally learned what I imagine healthy, secure people learn in their twenties - that I am capable of taking care of my own needs - financial, emotional, and physical. At first, I didn't want to have to be the one to do this. I wanted it to be my husband. But the universe has a way of putting just what we need in front of us. And he lost his job.

Most of my clients have this same experience. I shouldn't have to give myself the love I need. Someone else should. We don't want to take responsibility for ourselves. We don't want to grow up. I think secretly (secret even from ourselves) it's because we were never shown that we could stand on our own feet.

This is the legacy of insecure parents. They either need to be needed and can't instill independence in their kids. Or they can't be needed, leaving their kids starving for care. So often, it's a confusing combination of both.

We grow up on the outside - maybe even looking like we have things figured out. But inside, we feel like kids, unsure we can really manage life's challenges.

But we can. Five years into this separation from my mother, and I actually feel warmth and appreciation for her - along with sadness. I don't know what made her so defensive and unable to change or grow. I don't know what left her so anxious and unable to seek help.

I don't feel like reaching out. Not even in the wake of COVID-19. I know what it felt like when we used to talk. It was rarely good. I know that hasn't changed. I have felt better and stronger in these last three years than ever before in my life.

I still find Mother's Day memes annoying. I will not be on Social Media from Sunday to Thursday or Friday, when those posts have fallen off my feed.

But I just wanted to share, because I know so many of you are angsting about your mothers right now. There is no one right way to manage when your mother was/is difficult. You might do what I did for years, and spend a lot of time in the greeting card aisle, trying to find something nice that isn't an outright lie. You might call her and set a timer on the oven, so that you can say, "Oh mom, the oven timer just went off, I have to get that,
" even thought there's nothing cooking.

Whatever you choose to do this Mother's Day, I hope you consider your own needs, and not just hers. Protect yourself as best you can. And then do something amazing for the Mom inside of you - the one who has been taking care of you all along. Buy yourself flowers. Get yourself some delicious take-out. Take a walk in the cool of the morning and listen to the birds. Have breakfast in bed.

You have been doing a great job of caring for yourself, probably since you were little. Give yourself love and gratitude for all that.

Living with the Frenemy: Two Weeks into Quarantine for COVID-19

Some experts predict a mini baby-boom in nine months. If you are one of the fortunate who is enjoying lots of delicious couple time while sequestered, bless you.

But even the most connected may begin to feel strain - especially since we just found out yesterday the quarantine in the Bay Area has been extended from 2 weeks to 6. Oy vey.

For a lot of people - especially the introverts who now have people inside their houses 24-7 - all the togetherness is a bit much. As one of my clients put it,

"It's not that they're doing anything wrong; it's that they're breathing."

Other irritations I'm hearing:

• I'm working from home, and people keep coming into my space to see if I want anything. What I want is for them to stay the f@ck out of my room!
• My kids are bouncing off the walls. Literally. I was working, and I hear this loud crash. My youngest thought he could use the back of the couch like a tightrope. Of course, the couch fell over. Luckily no one was hurt. I was so furious though. I told them, I will not take either of you to the ER until the virus is under control. If you break a bone, it's just going to heal crooked (of course, I would take them to the doctor if anything happened). Now I feel terrible. Am I a bad mother?
• I have taken my dog for so many walks, she hides now when I get the leash. I just need a break from everyone. As soon as this ends, I'm taking a vacation by myself!

It's so hard to be human. We like to think we're tough and can handle anything. But the truth is, we are exquisitely sensitive creatures. We like our routines. For all the talk of needing relationships to be happy, what we really need is the right balance of connection and alone time. And each of us falls on a spectrum, so what feels balanced for me, might be torture for you.

If you are one of those who is getting a little fed up with hearing other people breathe, know you're not alone. If you're a parent and you want to get away from your kids, you're not a terrible mom or dad.

Alone time is essential to our sense of well-being - especially for adults. It's when we process the events of the day and make sense of our lives. It's when we check-in with ourselves, noting our emotional temperature and stress level, so we can practice self-care. Alone time is when we can finally hear ourselves think, so we can plan, dream, and find the flow of our creativity.

So it's important to set kind boundaries with the people who love us, who want our attention, who are very loud breathers.

Some tips to remember:

1. Don't shame or blame, after all, they need to breathe.
2. Do explain that "I am the kind of person that..." Fill in the blank with your need, for example, "I'm the kind of person that needs a good hour of quiet time first thing in the morning and again around 4pm to hear myself think."
3. Do ask for help instead of demanding or complaining. "Would you guys help me?"
4. Do ask them for their ideas, "Can you help me come up with some ways I can get that alone time while we're all in the same house?"
5. Do thank them for helping, for remembering, for reminding you. Let them see that their help is making a difference. 

Remember that boundaries can feel like rejection to others, so using the steps above, the goal is to protect the connection and love while getting some much needed space.

Hopefully this will help my fellow introverts get some breathing room!

May you and the ones you love stay safe and healthy through this bizarre moment in history!