I’m thrilled my latest essay has been published on Woman’s World! It’s about entering a new chapter of life that’s bittersweet… and the words of wisdom and comfort that fill me with hope.
If you’d like to check it out, click here.
Take care,
Jeni
As I sit here writing this, I’m a jumble of emotions and trying to type fast because our power may go out again at any moment.
The trees on our back hill are swaying so hard, I’m afraid they’ll break. The Santa Anas. As a native Southern California girl, these powerful winds are not new to me. I know all too well the devastation they can cause. I was in first grade when an enormous fire broke out near our home in Chatsworth and we needed to evacuate. In November 2018, my family and I were under imminent threat of fire and had to evacuate our home in the Thousand Oaks area.
Less than a week ago, monstrous Santa Anas at over 80 miles per hour, contributed to the fire that ravaged Malibu and the town of Pacific Palisades. The Palisades, as we’ve always called it.
My husband and I live about twenty-five miles away. We’re in a high fire danger area, directly across from the Santa Monica Mountains. One of the fears was that the fire in Malibu could travel the mountain range closer to us. Our two daughters are in Los Angeles, only several miles from the Palisades. They were just outside the evacuation border.
On the first day of the fire, our power was turned off for three days as a precautionary measure. Having no electricity was a minute issue compared to the thousands of people who lost everything.
It’s hard to describe the deep heartbreak and sadness we feel. The anxiety and panic. The feeling of helplessness. The one thing we can do is pray, and we’ve been saying a lot of prayers for the first responders and all those affected by the Palisades fire and the Eaton fire, also burning in Southern California.
We know at least eight families whose homes burned in the Palisades. My friend’s daughter and also her sister. Our daughters’ friends and coworkers. Our childhood friends whose beautiful home we used to love to visit.
Gone. Just gone.
It’s absolutely inconceivable that this charming, gorgeous town, north of Santa Monica and south of Malibu, is no longer here. Homes, businesses, schools, churches, parks, the library. The entire community of the Palisades.
They’ll rebuild, but it’ll take a long time. And it will never, ever be the same.
I heard one woman on the news say she told her son, “It’s okay. We’re here and safe. It’s just a house and can be replaced.” Her son replied, “No, Mom. It’s not just a house. It was our home.”
Growing up in the LA area, I consider the beaches here an important part of my life. Since I was a kid, going to the beach meant either Malibu or Santa Monica. I’d never dream that one day the Palisades and landmark restaurants along the coast would be obliterated.
Like Moonshadows restaurant in Malibu, which opened when I was a baby. I’m so happy that this past August, my husband and I decided to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary with lunch at Moonshadows. We sat on the lovely patio with a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean. It felt like we were on a cruise ship as we ate, keeping an eye out for dolphins. Obviously unaware this would be the last time we’d ever be there.
Memories.
The next time we drive down Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), I know we’ll be shocked and saddened to see the destruction of our cherished coast.
The Palisades fire reminds me of the Lahaina fire on Maui in August 2023. It was unthinkable that fire would ever destroy the entire town of Lahaina, right next to the ocean. Extremely high winds also fueled that blaze. At least one hundred people were killed and thousands lost their homes and businesses.
Kaanapali, Maui is our home away from home. Our place is ten minutes from what used to be Lahaina Town. My husband, daughters, and I were there at the end of December into the start of 2025, celebrating our youngest daughter’s 30th birthday and ringing in the new year.
During our stay, we drove past Lahaina many times. Looking out at the charred buildings and trees, it still felt surreal that our adored town is just gone. So many people will have to rebuild not only their homes, but their lives.
My family and I left Maui and flew back home to Southern California the evening of Sunday, January fifth. Two days later, the Palisades fire broke out. It was unfathomable to think that another beloved coastal town would be demolished by fire.
Places I loved and took for granted they’d always be there.
Now, trying to accept that they are not.
Missing my mom and dad this Christmas season.
I saw this image on social media and loved it. Reminds me of countless memories I’ll treasure forever: Mom helping me decorate our tree every year, Dad pointing out bare spots that need an ornament, spending Christmas Eve with family, chatting, laughing, eating, opening presents… But most of all, the warm, comforting feeling of being together.
I’m so grateful for the memories and the love we shared.
A magnificent gift.
I’m thrilled to be writing this post! I had the opportunity to interview an incredible woman and dear friend of mine, Tracey Yokas. She’s an accomplished writer, speaker, teacher, artist, and mental health advocate.
I couldn’t wait to chat with Tracey about her journey writing her beautiful and important book, Bloodlines: A Memoir of Harm and Healing. It centers around the time when Tracey’s teenage daughter was struggling with severe mental illness—an eating disorder, anxiety, depression, and self-harm. Tracey expertly weaves stories of her own childhood and generational trauma along with her daughter’s storyline.
Much more about Tracey’s stunning memoir later, but first a little background on our friendship.
We met seven years ago while volunteering for NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness). She was producing a variety show to benefit our local NAMI chapter and I was excited to help behind the scenes. Professional singers, actors, and comedians performed. I was in awe of how Tracey led the charge and put on such a wonderful show—not only to raise money, but to raise awareness of mental illness.
She’s one of those friends I clicked with right away. We realized we had a lot in common, in particular, our passion for mental health advocacy and writing. Early in our friendship, she told me about the manuscript she was working on, which would ultimately become Bloodlines.
Over the years, I’ve watched as her story developed (both literally and on the page). It’s morphed into exactly the tale she’s been yearning to tell. I’m so proud of her determination to continue writing and get her story out in the world. It felt surreal to finally hold her book in my hands. It was quite a celebration at her book launch this past May.
Tracey has a wealth of knowledge and wisdom to share from her twelve-year healing journey. She often says, “We all have mental health, so we might as well talk about it.” I think of that as her motto.
So yes, Tracey… Let’s talk about it! I hope you enjoy our conversation (edited for length).
JENI: Having a mental health condition can be so lonely. When I was first diagnosed with panic disorder, I was embarrassed and ashamed. I didn’t think anyone in this world felt like I did. I know we’re on the same page with that. We want people to know they’re not alone.
TRACEY: It’s interesting because it’s exactly the same feeling as the mother of a child who receives a mental health diagnosis. I thought no one could understand my pain. I felt embarrassed that I somehow wasn’t able to prevent this from happening to my daughter. I isolated myself from my friends and my family. I think it’s good to point out that it’s not only the person with the diagnosis who has these feelings of not being understood, it’s also the family members.
JENI: So true. When you first started your book ten years ago, did you think it would be published someday? Or was it more for yourself, to help navigate your feelings?
TRACEY: When I first started, it definitely was not for public consumption. There was no thought in my mind that I was going to write a book, let alone a memoir. I started writing to keep track of what was happening; appointments, conversations, all of that needed to be documented. Writing down my feelings and frustrations, as a journaling practice, was a coping mechanism for me.
Years later, I thought, there are so many families going through the same things we were, if I could find a way to tell our story, it could be beneficial for others. It wasn’t for many years after, that I talked to my family about it. Obviously, they had a huge say in the matter for whether the work would actually go public or not.
JENI: Did you ever think about making it fiction? Or did you always know it was going to be a memoir?
TRACEY: I never entertained writing fiction because for one, when we were living through our experiences, I had no bandwidth for fiction. I was only reading nonfiction about people who were living in situations that we were. Most of those books were written by clinicians or journalists.
More of the driving force was I wanted people, particularly mothers, to know they weren’t alone. That other mothers have these same feelings and thoughts, pain and suffering. I was committed to showing our true journey so that people could see themselves in the pages of my book.
JENI: You succeeded in doing that! Your writing is raw and honest, it truly feels like a friend is sitting there narrating her story directly to the reader. One of the things you talk about is wanting to fix your daughter. To cure her. It doesn’t work that way, right?
TRACEY: No, it doesn’t. Initially I felt driven as her mother to solve this problem. I think rationally we know we can’t control someone. But until we’re challenged at another level, we don’t fully understand that. I knew I couldn’t control her illness, but I kept trying to do it anyway. I had to come to the conclusion that as painful as it was, I had no control. My daughter was her own person. She had her own journey to go on. It was my job to facilitate the best treatment, clinicians, and advice that I could find. But the most important thing I could do was control my own self and do my own work.
My need to fix my daughter may have been received by her as she’s bad or broken. Even if that wasn’t my intention. What I ended up learning was that my behavior was in part a response that was born of my own generational trauma.
JENI: What do you mean by that?
TRACEY: Being raised by emotionally immature parents who didn’t have boundaries, who were codependent, who over identified with my own emotions, I repeated all those patterns raising my daughter. When she got sick, everything was heightened. That made that unhealthy pattern really visible because I was so keyed in to this dynamic of trying to fix her and control the situation. I didn’t see it for the unhealthy dynamic that it was.
I had to learn to stop being focused on my daughter and shift my focus onto me. And rather than react to every single thing, I had to learn how to deal with my own emotions, my own internal dynamic, and respond in a way that was healthier and better able to support her in the way that she actually needed it.
JENI: I love how you weave that part—your own journey with generational trauma and your own path to recovery—into the book. That by working on yourself, you in turn were able to better help your daughter.
TRACEY: Exactly.
JENI: Let’s talk about your struggle with generational trauma. Can you shed some light on your situation?
TRACEY: Sure. There’s a thing called adverse childhood experiences that I think is important to lay the groundwork with. It’s a list of things like physical abuse, sexual abuse, growing up in poverty, having an incarcerated parent. These kinds of things are used to help identify children who have had traumatic childhoods. And we understand PTSD if we’re talking about veterans or people who have had horrible things happen to them. Like that all makes sense.
But I didn’t tick any of those boxes.
I had two parents who loved me. We had a roof over our heads, we had food on the table. I never saw myself in any of the language related to trauma.
As I was growing up, having trouble with my relationships and difficulty with friends, I felt like something was wrong with me. I had internal feelings of not being good enough and being broken. People like me put on a good show where we can be successful and driven and people pleasing. We make our way through life looking like we have our act together.
JENI: And that’s why you didn’t see yourself as enduring childhood trauma.
TRACEY: Right. It wasn’t until I was starting to heal that I looked at the dynamics playing out in my relationships. I eventually discerned with my therapist that I am the adult survivor of childhood trauma. There’s a lot of words for it, such as narcissistic, neglect, codependency, and rejection. The phrase people use today is emotionally immature parenting.
This is not about blame. It’s about not understanding the situation and being raised in that environment. Then I become an adult who doesn’t understand, for example, anything about boundaries or what my values are and not even thinking about it because this is not anything that was discussed in my family. These unhealthy patterns get passed down to us from generations before. And unless somebody does the hard work of waking up to and acknowledging these things, everything just keeps getting passed down.
JENI: The chain of generational trauma. How did silence in your family impact you?
TRACEY: The loss of my baby sister who was stillborn was never talked about. Most of the time I didn’t remember I was even supposed to have a sister. My parents certainly didn’t forget. But again, it was kept in silence. If nothing is talked about, everybody just wants to maintain the status quo because that’s easier than doing the hard work of healing.
I grew up to be relationally not the healthiest adult. Little me got the message that because my mom was depressed, she wasn’t taking care of me because she spent the day in her room. My dad was depressed because my parents’ marriage was falling apart. Their baby died. And I was left as a toddler, essentially to fend for myself. That’s ineffective parenting.
As a child, I blamed myself. Not in a conscious way, but this is a belief that becomes internalized. I didn’t have healthy examples of how to be in relationships. Every time my relationships fell apart, it reinforced that message I got when I was a toddler. I’m not good enough. There’s something wrong with me.
JENI: Have you broken that chain of generational trauma?
TRACEY: I’ve certainly broken the cycle from what it was. My daughter was thirteen when she received her mental health diagnosis. Back then, there absolutely were patterns that repeated there. But now, they’re things we talk about. When either one of us sees those patterns cropping up, we’re much more aware of it.
JENI: Your relationship with your daughter is so much different than yours was with your mom.
TRACEY: Absolutely. I never got the opportunity to fix my relationship with my mother. And even if she were alive today, there’s no way to know that she would be capable or receptive. My fear that I would somehow replicate my mother-daughter relationship with my daughter has been eradicated because I know for sure we have forged our new own path in healthy relationship. And it’s one-hundred percent the thing I treasure most about this journey. It’s been the greatest gift.
JENI: Let’s talk about your healing. Your therapist would often ask what you’re doing for your own self-care and you didn’t get it at all. Why?
TRACEY: I love this question. For nearly two years, every single week, my therapist asked what I could do to take care of myself. I looked at her like she had horns growing out of her head. It was like, how could you possibly ask me to be taking care of myself right now with everything we have going on? I completely missed that she was asking me to do the same thing I wanted my daughter to do, which was to take care of herself. I literally did not understand that.
I truly believe that self-care is one of the most misunderstood concepts of our day. I love a mani-pedi and a good massage. I like to read spiritually oriented books. I make time for them.
But I think the part of self-care we miss is where we look at ourselves with full honesty and identify harmful patterns. The idea of taking care of ourselves in a way that enables compassion, forgiveness, and healing for ourselves. That becomes the foundation for the relationships we want with other people.
We can’t be there for the people we love most if we’re not being there for ourselves. How can we keep showing up as the best version of ourselves if we’re not willing to prioritize our own health and wellness?
JENI: You’ve found art—specifically, art journaling—to be incredibly healing. How so?
TRACEY: Returning to a creative practice was a huge piece of my self-care. Art journaling was a way to build trust with myself and to allow myself to give voice to what otherwise would remain voiceless. I was drawn to words about healing and pulled them from my favorite books. I found phrases I loved from Brene Brown and other thought leaders and used their words to create pages.
In a very concrete way, art made me aware of my negative inner dialogue. The old inner critic, imposter syndrome, perfectionism, all of these things came up through the creative process. It allowed me to work with those uncomfortable feelings and write about them in my journal, talk about them in therapy, and come up with ways to heal those things. We don’t heal it by ignoring it.
JENI: You mentioned perfectionism. Art often isn’t perfect. It’s trial and error a lot of time. How did art help you in that way, to deal with imperfection?
TRACEY: Perfectionism is a very unhealthy, crippling dynamic that stops people before they even get started. For example, I’d start a page in my art journal and if it wasn’t turning out the way I wanted it, the judgmental thoughts would start flooding in. That’s ugly. Why are you doing that? It’s stupid. This is a waste of your time. You need to be doing something more productive.
I think that inner-judgmental voice comes out in all aspects of our lives. Art made all of those patterns and habits clear to me. I worked on accepting my art for the sake of art. And because it’s fun and because I like doing, and it doesn’t have to be perfect. Work on accepting myself and my art as I am.
JENI: You and your daughter have come so far. Recovery is a life-long process and it certainly isn’t linear. Do you consider both of you recovered?
TRACEY: I feel like we’re in recovery in the sense of my daughter’s eating disorder is in recovery. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t struggle. I take care of myself and have practices in place to help. My daughter and I have come to the point in our relationship where we know we can talk to each other about anything. Healing takes a long time, but we’re headed in the right direction.
JENI: It sounds like both of you are at peace with where you are right now.
TRACEY: What a great way to put it. If you’re at peace with where you are, then yes, you’re in recovery. Doesn’t mean everything’s perfect, but yeah, at peace.
JENI: What’s your advice to parents who have a child with a mental illness?
TRACEY: Number one is prioritize your self-care, your own wellness, so you can come from a healthier place while you’re dealing with all of this.
Number two is if at all possible, get into your own therapy because you’re going to need to know things there was no reason for you to know before. There are people who work with families every day who struggle. They can help you.
Number three is to get educated about your child’s diagnosis. Find a class, an educational program, or an online website that’s highly trusted, that specializes in your child’s diagnosis. It’s imperative that family members learn as much as they can so they understand what their loved one is struggling with.
JENI: You’re building an amazing community. How can people get involved?
TRACEY: They can go to my website, traceyyocascreates.com, for information on everything I offer. Everything comes from my heart and my lived experience. We’re all in this together. There’s a lot of discomfort on a healing journey, especially at first. But it makes a huge difference when you know you’re not alone.
JENI: This was such an insightful interview, Tracey! Huge congrats on your incredible book. Thank you for sharing your story. You’re helping so many people.
I saw this quote on social media and had to share. It resonates with me so much right now! (especially the lost and confused part). I’m at an “in between” season of life, trying to navigate which direction is best. My parents recently passed away and my husband and I are on the path to retiring from our business. It’s a bittersweet time—looking back at what was—and excited about what the future holds.
I’m thrilled to have a story published online for Woman’s World Magazine! My essay comes straight from my heart… how gardening helped me through grief when my mom and dad were critically ill at the exact same time. They passed away within five months of each other.
When I was going through this difficult time, I knew I’d write about it one day. I just didn’t know when. Now’s the time and I’m so happy to share it.
A month ago, I experienced the sparkliest “glimmer” I’ve ever felt. It was so extraordinary, I’m still thinking about it. I’ve had them before—tiny bursts of extreme joy and calmness—but this time was different.
Glimmers are fleeting moments of bliss that can happen while appreciating simple things. They give a rush of happiness, connection, gratitude, peace, and safety. Glimmers may happen while watching waves crash at the beach, seeing a rainbow, talking to an old friend, hearing a baby laugh, witnessing random acts of kindness, or savoring a cup of coffee.
In describing this sensation, the term “glimmer” was introduced by licensed clinical social worker Deb Dana in her book The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy. She says glimmers are small moments when our biology is in a place of connection or regulation which cues our nervous system to feel calm.
Medical experts agree glimmers can be good for mental health. They’re the opposite of triggers. While triggers cause a person to relive a past trauma, glimmers make a person feel cozy and safe.
For me, a tranquil—almost ethereal—sensation washes over me, relaxing my mind and body. It’s not like I have glimmers all the time. I’ve probably experienced less than a dozen. The best way I can explain how they feel is that time seems to freeze. It’s like I’m transported to an alternate universe for a flicker of a second. I get this all-over feeling that everything in this world is going to be okay. It’s warm and soothing, like God is embracing me, reminding me to enjoy my life and not to worry.
When I had the exceptional glimmer last month, I had been in my office paying bills, listening to my Spotify playlist. I stood to take a break and stretch out. One of my favorite songs started to play: “Sittin Pretty” by Florida Georgia Line.
That sunset straight up as it gets
Short shorts restin’ just right on your hips
The lyrics transported me to lazy summer days of long walks on the beach, my skin warm and golden from the bright California sun. Biting into sweet watermelon and peaches. Al fresco dinners with twinkle lights and lanterns glowing in our back yard. The night sky glittering with millions of stars.
For a brief moment, I felt like a kid waking up on a summer day with no plans, but super excited for what the day would hold. Zero worries or responsibilities. Simple, pure, exalted delight. I was on a highly elevated level of happiness. I hadn’t felt that in a really long time.
I started to sway to the rhythm of the music, but held back a bit. It felt strange, like I shouldn’t be so joyous. I thought of the heartbreak of the past couple of years when both of my parents were critically ill. They passed away within five months of each other. I thought of current problems; our family and friends with health issues, our business concerns, and everyday life stressors that weigh me down.
I literally shook my head and let all that sadness and worry float away so I could allow myself to melt into utopia.
We got all damn day to do it our way
Like an old tire swing in the shade
I danced like no one was watching (no one was). The song ended and the unbridled, sweet contentment vanished like steam from my coffee mug. Even though it was too short, I was grateful to experience that dreamy moment in time.
While still enjoying my “happiness high,” there was also something about it that bothered me. I tried to explain it to my husband.
“I can’t believe how much joy I felt. But it really makes me wonder how much grief and fear I’m holding in all the time. I don’t get why it was such a shock to feel so, so happy. I think of myself as a positive person. But am I?”
“Yes, you are,” he said. “It takes a long time to process grief and you might never fully let go of it all.”
“I just didn’t think I could ever, ever feel that happy. When did I feel that way before? When I was eight?”
“Maybe you’d feel like that more if we moved to Hawaii.”
We both laughed.
All kidding aside, I wondered if there was a way to be less anxious and feel that sudden burst of positivity more often—even for a micro moment. I did some research which spurred me to think of some ideas to improve mental health and maybe (just maybe!) have more glimmers:
These tips won’t guarantee more glimmers, but they can help put me in the right frame of mind to at least have glimmers of hope. I think I’ll go listen to my Spotify playlist. First up: “Sittin Pretty.”
Pretty as a peach
As a postcard picture of a West Coast beach
So pretty if I had to bet
This is pretty much as good as it gets
Our latest family vacation to Maui is one I”ll never forget.
I knew the trip this past October would be different. Instead of being obliviously happy in tropical paradise, the reality was the island had recently been riddled with death and destruction. Wildfires raged through West Maui in August, killing one hundred people. Many more lost their homes, businesses, and loved ones.
I was devastated, as Maui holds a special place in my heart. My husband and I have been there many times since our honeymoon thirty-four years ago and we own a second home on the island. Our family’s happiest place in the world.
There was another—more personal—reason this trip would be different. It was the first time I’d traveled since both my mom and dad passed away.
For the past two years, my parents were critically ill. They died within five months of each other. While they were sick, I went out of town a couple of times, but it was stressful. I worried constantly. Even when they were healthy, I’d be anxious when we’d go on vacation, especially if we went abroad. What if something happens to Mom and Dad? What if they need me and I’m not there? My anxiety wouldn’t let me rest.
Our Maui trip was planned for early September, but delayed until the end of October because of the wildfires.
As we boarded the plane, I had mixed emotions—excitement, but also trepidation. I was sad this was the first excursion without my parents on this earth. I wondered if I’d feel the usual joy and peacefulness of being on the island, even though so many there were hurting. Did enough time pass to be respectful of those who lost loved ones, or their homes, or both?
As the flight took off, I inhaled to the count of ten and exhaled slowly. I made it through the hardest years of my life so far. My mom and dad were safe and happier than they’d ever been, together in Heaven. I didn’t need to worry about them anymore.
It felt freeing.
We’d just flown above the clouds, the plane climbing to its cruising altitude. I touched the cold glass as I stared out the window, thinking of my parents.
Out in the powder blue ethereal sky, I saw a vision of Mom and Dad. They smiled and said, “Have the best time, Jen!” Warmth and comfort filled me. The loving vision faded so fast that I wondered if it had really happened. Deep in my heart, I believed it was them.
Sun beamed through the airplane window and I peered down, admiring the gold watch sparkling on my wrist. My dad had given it to my mom on their 35th wedding anniversary. They celebrated their love that year on the island of Maui. The back of the timepiece is engraved: Aloha 35, 6-2-93. That watch is precious to me. I didn’t know it existed (or forgot about it) and was thrilled when I found the delicate treasure while my sisters and I were clearing out our parent’s home. I knew it was meant for me to find. That’s what both of my sisters thought too.
Nearly six hours flying over the Pacific Ocean, the plane descended, preparing to land. The turquoise blue ocean glittered, seeming to welcome us to the island as if nothing had changed. But for many islanders, everything had changed. I prepared myself to witness it firsthand.
On the drive from the airport to our place on Kaanapali, it was heartbreaking to see the devastation, which was more widespread than we expected. Acres and acres of blackened landscape. Houses and businesses reduced to ash, down to the concrete slabs. Charred trees stood among the rubble like scorched scarecrows.
Our beloved historic and charming Lahaina was gone, the whole town obliterated by flames. It felt like all our memories of this special place were simply erased.
My husband, two daughters, and I loved Lahaina Town. Going there was a highlight of every trip. We never missed it. We’d stroll down lively Front Street, nestled next to the ocean. We had our favorite art galleries, shops, bars, and restaurants.
So many memories. Like the time my youngest little girl fell asleep on my lap during dinner, as she was lulled by waves lapping up against the side of the restaurant. Watching the sunset torch lighting ceremony on the rooftop of Fleetwood’s. Sipping lava flows and listening to live music at Down the Hatch. Halloween festivities on Front Street. Wandering around the 150-year-old Lahaina Banyan Tree, hundreds of mynah birds chirping away.
Etched in my mind forever is when my husband, daughters, and I sat on a grassy ridge at the Lahaina Harbor in September 2019, witnessing the most spectacular sunset we’d ever seen. Ever. Vivid blues, pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows lit up the evening sky, like it was proud to be shining above the cherished town of Lahaina.
The people of Maui are what makes the island so special. Over the years we’ve become friends with Hawaiian locals. It saddened us to think of what they’ve been through.
One of them is a man named Justo, who we’ve known for years. We consider him part of our Maui ohana. He works security at the resort where our place is. It always amazes us how quickly Justo recognizes us when we get to the resort—even if we’re hundreds of feet away— and greets us with a huge wave and warm smile. He brings us papayas, mangos, and star fruit picked from his trees at home. When I think of someone who embodies the Aloha spirit, I think of Justo.
On the day we arrived on this most recent trip, my family and I were walking by one of the pools when we spotted Justo. We hurried over and gave him great big hugs. I told him how worried we’d been and asked if he and his family were okay.
“I lost everything. I was living with my sister in Lahaina and her house burned.”
Justo’s brother owned a food truck which was destroyed. In an instant, the brother’s business and livelihood were gone.
But they’re all here—safe.
On the day of the fire, Justo had been at the resort, which is a ten-minute drive from Lahaina Town. He went up to the tenth floor of one of the buildings and snapped photos of the orange and red spiky flames ravaging his home town.
The incredible part was Justo’s positive attitude and big smile. Despite the sadness, he had hope and optimism for the future. My husband told Justo he admired his outlook.
“All I can do is move forward,” Justo said. “Thank God I’m here. I have to keep going. What else can I do?”
Before we said goodbye to Justo that day, we took selfies of the five of us. Our huge grins and beaming eyes said it all. Pure joy to be together again.
Justo’s words about moving forward inspired me to celebrate and honor my mom and dad by being present and enjoying every moment of our time on Maui.
I felt myself melt into island life, the stress and anxiety float away from my body. Every sunset, plumeria, palm tree, rainbow, and the warm Hawaiian clear-blue ocean were beautiful, comforting reminders of my parents. I knew what they’d want most for me is to be happy and live my blessed life to the fullest.
My mom used to tell me: “Best friends don’t come along often. You’ll be able to count those special people on one hand. And if you’re really fortunate, you’ll count them on two.”
She was so right. I’m happy to say I can count mine on two.
Not only are my friends fun to be around, there’s no doubt they have a positive influence on my mental health. My friends fill my life with joy, accept me for who I am, and are there to support and encourage me when times are hard. I’m definitely not alone in feeling like this. Experts agree good friends are good for your health. The Mayo Clinic says friends can increase your sense of belonging and purpose, reduce your stress, and boost your self-worth.
One of my closest BFFs is a beautiful woman named Alicia. She recently came to Southern California for a visit—it had been twenty-nine years since we last saw each other.
Alicia is a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan. She found out they were scheduled to be in Los Angeles to play the Rams in October. She decided she had to come, not just for the game, but to see me and some other lifelong family friends. Alicia’s oldest son came with her, so I got to meet him for the first time. We planned lunch at a restaurant on the beach near Santa Monica.
When my husband and I were walking to the front of the restaurant, I spotted Alicia and called out her name. We rushed toward each other and hugged tight, two long-lost friends ecstatic to be together again. It felt surreal, yet totally natural. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Our friendship is unique. We were ten years old when we met in fifth grade and became fast friends. The summer before sixth grade, Alicia and her family moved across the country. It blows me away to think we only knew each other for one year—and here we are forty-nine years later, still very close.
There’s an unexplainable childhood bond that’s remained strong. We have one of those friendships where even if we don’t talk for months, when we do, we pick up right where we left off.
In fifth grade, we were at that impressionable age, growing up and trying to figure ourselves out, but not ready to stop being little girls. Our bodies were changing, we noticed boys (but didn’t really want to have a conversation with any), and we had major crushes on singers Donny Osmond and Shaun Cassidy. We experimented with fruit-flavored lip gloss and roll-on perfume that smelled like rain. We played with dolls, pretending we had husbands and babies.
When we weren’t at school together or at our houses playing, we were writing cute letters to each other, decorated with drawings of elephants and puppies, using rainbow-colored pencils. We got to know each other’s families well. Alicia’s mom taught us how to oil paint and bake cookies, my mom often took us to the beach, and once I went camping in the Sequoias with her family.
When she moved away, I was devastated.
It was impossible for me to know how in the world I was going to navigate sixth grade without her, let alone, the rest of my life.
Two years later when we were twelve, my mom and dad bought me a plane ticket to Pennsylvania to visit Alicia during the summer. We had so much fun, it was like we still lived near each other. But the reality was we were thousands of miles apart. In my heart, I knew we had no choice other than to go our separate ways as we headed toward our teenage years.
Alicia and I kept in touch on and off as we went through high school, college, found our future husbands, and got married. She had two baby boys, I had two baby girls. Still living on opposite coasts, we were absorbed with taking care of our growing families. Life was beautiful, but also challenging and heartbreaking for us in different ways… divorce, a cancer diagnosis, healing from panic disorder, nursing our parents through serious illness, and then losing them.
Through it all, I’ve known Alicia would always be there for me. And me for her.
Over the years we’ve made other super close friends, other BFFs. I feel so blessed and I celebrate the special women in my life. They enrich my world, are there for me to laugh with, learn from, and lean on during the tough times. I love and treasure those relationships.
But there’s only one Alicia.
Here’s to one-of-a-kind, life-long friendships. Especially the ones you can count on one hand.
On January 7, 2021, I received an email that completely took me off guard. The subject line read: “fellow panicker calling.” The note was brief, saying he found my blog and wanted to know if we could chat on the phone. It was signed Matt Gutman, ABC News Chief National Correspondent.
WHAT?
I was used to seeing emails from people who had read my blog or an article I’d written, and were inquiring about panic and anxiety. But a reporter from ABC News? Was it real, was it spam? I wondered why he wanted to talk to me. Was he really struggling with panic attacks? Was he doing a story on mental health? And if he did have panic attacks, I thought about how incredibly hard that would be while working in broadcast news.
A significant part of this is when he emailed me. I remember the date clearly.
January 5, 2021 was a big day for me. For the first six years of my blog, I was anonymous. I never said my real name, where I was from, and never ever posted a picture of myself. When I started Peace from Panic, I chose to use a pen name, as I wrote about my struggles with mental illness, specifically, panic disorder. Stigma had kept me quiet for twenty years. I wasn’t ready to divulge my true identity with the rest of the world while sharing something so personal.
In December 2020, I was one-hundred percent ready to end my anonymity. Over Christmas break, my daughters helped give my site a complete makeover, took photos of me, and even made edits on my “coming out” post. I was nervous, but mostly excited. It felt great to let everyone know the real me.
January 5, 2021: the big reveal on my blog.
January 6, 2021: the attack on the U.S. Capitol.
January 7, 2021: Matt reached out.
An hour after I saw Matt’s email, I overcame my hesitations and called him. We had a wonderful, in-depth conversation. Turns out he truly did suffer from panic attacks. The frightening symptoms were at times debilitating and threatening his livelihood as an on-air reporter. Especially difficult, as panic came on most often while he was about to start—or while in the middle of—a live shot. It’s hard to imagine the terror of having a panic attack while tens of millions of people are watching, as you’re trying to remember what to say and sound intelligible.
We never know what people are going through. Mental illness may not be visible on the outside, but on the inside, that person might be crumbling.
Matt was very curious about my story and how I’d managed to mostly recover. We had several things in common—panic disorder being the first. But also, journalism. In college, I majored in broadcast journalism. After graduation, I had a job waiting at a local TV station in Montana. I didn’t take it, as I would soon be marrying my husband. I told Matt that looking back, even though I missed covering breaking news, I was glad I didn’t go to Montana and make a career out of it. I doubted I’d be able to handle being on air with panic attacks, and also symptoms of depersonalization and derealization.
I thought Matt was brave to stick with it. He’s what I think of as an extremely adventurous reporter, not afraid to be right in the front line of breaking news, and doing so while millions of viewers are watching his every move. He seems to thrive in that environment. He’s been at the forefront of huge national and international stories. He’s traveled all over the world, broadcasting from war zones and natural disasters. He was detained by Venezuelan police for five days. He was in Ukraine during the Russian invasion. He appears fearless. Nothing holds him back.
Except panic attacks.
Matt got to the point where he couldn’t bear to keep his panic a secret anymore. Doing so is exhausting, I know that firsthand. He desperately searched for ways to help get rid of, or greatly minimize, his panic. To me, he seemed like the type of person with fierce determination who wouldn’t give up until he found an answer.
Over the past two and a half years, we’ve kept in contact, checking in on each other. About a year ago, he told me he was writing a book on his panic journey. And what a journey it has been.
In his memoir, NO TIME TO PANIC, Matt talks with experts including doctors, scholars, and shamans. He’s experimented with many types of treatment in search of healing, from conventional therapy and medications to ayahuasca (a tea with hallucinogenic properties) to ketamine psychedelic therapy.
Even though we live relatively close, we had never seen each other in person. When he told me he was doing a book tour, first stop in Los Angeles on September 12 (date of his book release), I knew I had to go. He’d be in an intimate conversation with Mayim Bialik. I’m a fan of Mayim’s (Big Bang Theory, Jeopardy), and love that she speaks openly about mental health.
Matt and Mayim’s talk was heartfelt and honest, recounting Matt’s harrowing journey with panic disorder and his adventures to find answers. The best part of the evening was finally— after two and a half years of talking, emailing, and sending DMs on Instagram about our personal struggles with panic disorder—we got to see each other in person and give each other a great big hug.
I recently finished reading NO TIME TO PANIC, and it’s incredible. This is a must-read for anyone affected by anxiety and panic—either the person with the illness or their loved ones. Matt masterfully weaves expertly researched science (he makes it so relatable and at times funny) with his own personal story. The details of his experiences are so clearly written, it felt like I was right there with him. Matt’s journey is filled with self-doubt and shame, but also with hope and self-acceptance. His vulnerability helps others know they are not alone.
And guess what? Yes! I’m in the book! I feel fortunate and proud to be Matt’s friend and part of his story. And I’m so glad he’s part of mine.
Peace from Panic 