How can I do what I do?  Especially when I awfulize.

I know now how to help someone out of quicksand, but that wasn’t until much later, after the little girl died.

Friends’ two-year-old daughter and her little brother were in mom’s car when it was t-boned on an icy road.  The little boy had cuts and bruises but the little girl was paralyzed from the neck down.  She couldn’t breathe, move, or speak.

When we visited the Pediatric ICU, she looked mystified.

And something else, beyond all that, or maybe I imagined it.

How could a parent, any parent, explain to a little girl the reason that the her life of movement, laughter, and speech was in an instant replaced by the very opposite.   No one, no one, can make sense of something like this.

No one could; I know, I tried.  For a year I looked for someone or something to explain it to me.

When she died a year later, I experienced the most intense grief I’ve felt before or since, even at the death of my parents.  I passed a year immersed and overwhelmed by sorrow and anger, finding nothing to ease their pain.

Only now, twenty-five years later, do I understand that my intense grief and terror is a recognition of my own childhood experience  being “unable to speak”.   There is no “new normal”; while adaptation occurs, and each of us goes on, there is, I think, at the core of us something unhealed.

For me, that ancient pain is calmed as I help clients face and express their own astonishment at what has happened to them.  Even though I could do nothing to give a “voice” to that little girl, her benevolence has taught me how to speak.

Kathe Skinner is a therapist and relationship coach  specializing in couples work, especially where relationships are affected by invisible disability.  Multiple sclerosis has taught Kathe that there are many “languages” other than the ones we may be born with — like walking instead of running, or writing music instead of singing.  She and her husband David, with their two eloquent cats, Petey and Lucy, live in Colorado.  By the way, you help someone out of quicksand by extending a branch to pull them out, not by going under yourself by jumping  in to help.

The model chose to remain anonymous but did reveal that her dress matches her underwear.

The fashion industry has joined forces with manufacturers of personal care products to produce incontinence wear for women in designer colors, including soft peach and light blue.

Industry has heeded the call of millions of women who want to feel feminine, even when having a pants-full. The newer color palette does that and at the same time takes away the shame and embarrassment of elimination accidents. Women feel confident again.  How sexy is that?

No news from design experts about re-fashioning incontinence products for men.  Basic gray or black ramped up with famous-maker logos? Industry insiders float jazzy possibilities for the future.

Kathe Skinner is a psychotherapist and relationship coach specializing in couples work, especially regarding relationships affected by invisible disabiity (cancer, bi-polar disorder, Crohn’s, lupus, etc.).  She has multiple sclerosis; bladder problems are among her symptoms. Her husband David thinks soft peach pee panties are cute; thankfully, he doesn’t think they’re sexy.

Ever feel like you bit off more than you could chew?

When it’s all too much, you feel crummy, your relationship sucks, it’s time to pare down, slow down, get down and get funky, sorta New Age-y. Like this.

Do the math:  Go granular, deconstruct.  Find the lowest common denominator. For example, I handed my husband folded jeans fresh from the dryer, still warm.  I was so proud, you’d think I’d baked bread or something. Don’t do laundry? Then sit outside, feel the sunshine; John Denver did and it worked out real well for him.  After the initial discomfort of treating yourself better, odds are you breathe deeper and sleep more soundly.

Be a cat:  See yourself, your relationship, the clothes in your closet, from another angle.  Habit can be an enemy when it dulls relationship skills like communication, disallows surprises, and steals joy. (By the way, when was the last time you two did something sheerly for the joy of having fun?)  Try this: whether you have a pet or not, get down on the floor and see your everyday world from their perspective.  Or imagine the lives of people in the car next to yours. Better yet, what do you think people imagine about you? Hope you’re ready to do something decidedly not you; Halloween is a great permission-giving time for both of you.

Follow the Rules of Hole Digging:  In the film, “Holes”, digging was a pointless activity.  It’s sort of like fighting change: you become embroiled in ceaseless and unsuccessful activity.  Like digging holes.  Lurching through life is to stumble and eventually fall (with a disability like MS, I know from that.) Regaining control through changing my behavior is scary. I’d rather fall, even though not falling means a better marriage, an improved outlook, fewer trips to the chiropractor.  Being in control means checking the lay of the land: does it look familiar? lost the way? does that destination even make sense anymore? Follow the First Rule of Hole Digging: Stop Digging!  The Second Rule?  Put the shovel down.

Be astounded:  Ever watch your pet watch his environment?  Pets are always alert, reactive, even to the familiar.  Be warned, though!  A new perspective demands being more present. Be still; heighten your senses and, paradoxically, find yourself relaxing. Several times I’ve taken a mind-rest and fallen asleep at my desk.  One time, I even fell off the chair. That’s not necessarily a bad thing (resting, not falling off a chair.) Rest is also a good antidote for stress; you can’t be angry and relaxed at the same time.

Find Nemo:  All change is about loss.  We have to let go, whether we want to or not; it’s what everything’s about.  “Letting go” and “staying healthy” go together, as Nemo and his dad discovered.  Life lessons, if not everywhere, are plentiful; it’s part of the flow.  For many of us with invisible disabilities, change is profound,bittersweet, and, like some change, unwanted.  Know that the flow is all around you; feel the fear, get out of your own way, and, like Nemo, join the flow anyway.

The smaller pieces of your life are no less a treasure than the whole they combine to make.  Small things can have big rewards.  I’ve been finding pleasure doing things not high on my professional gradient of importance.  Ironing, for example.  There can be satisfaction, even pride, in moving away from what’s complex to what takes a slow hand.  And, if you allow it, a hefty measure of peacefulness.

Kathe Skinner is a psychotherapist and relationship coach, working especially with couples whose togetherness is impacted by invisible illness or disability.  She has struggled this year with major changes in her personal, professional, and family life and is heeding the whisper of change and slowing down.  She and her husband, David, are taught each day about the importance of resting from Petey and Lucy, their cats.