Re-Nudging: Inspiration from A Guest Nudger

Hello, dear Nudgers!

We wrapped up round 3 a few weeks ago, and I’m taking a breather to think about what I want to be on The List for round 4. For inspiration, I’m revisiting some posts from the past–starting with one from one of our many awesome “Guest Nudgers.” Andie’s wonderful essay first appeared during the holidays, so you may have missed it. I hope her message motivates you to jump back into Nudging with me in a couple of weeks. — Kathleen

52+: Eyes Intentionally Veiled (originally posted December 26, 2022)

By Andie Ferman, Guest Nudger

Dear Nudgers, As we head into the new year and perhaps think about setting intentions or resolutions, I invite you to witness Andie’s story. May you find inspiration and motivation to live your best life. xo Kathleen

Born into this world, we all cry out, our essence trapped in our delicate, yet incredibly resilient, bodies. The cry is a celebration of the life we are about to live, but also perhaps a vocal lamenting of the peace we just left in the warmth of the womb. Unmuted and unapologetically desperate for the love that is the promise of life.

I struggled most of my life with a desperate need for love and attention. I was the youngest of four rambunctious children, raised in a home with my mother as the single caregiver. A child of divorce, I felt all the resentment and pain that comes along with a woman being sold the promise of a “happily ever after” and being slapped with the harsh realities of trauma-motivated mating and partner choices made under the influence of bodily chemistry.

My mother did the best she could given her programming and her experiences in a world, at a time, where society (certainly then, and still does to this day) attempts to deny and ignore mental illness and emotional instability. To be vulnerable is to be weak. To admit you need help is to be weak. To appear strong and viable, you simply ignore and mosey along, in full survival mode, unable to ever truly catch your breath and exist in peace. 

I observed and learned that, in order to get my needs met, I’d need to act out, be loud, or simply suffer in the background. This desperate need for attention both literally, for physical needs to be met, and emotionally, for validation and belonging, spilled over from my childhood into adulthood, and I was clueless as to why I always felt un-fulfilled.

I then assumed, like many young adults, that I’d simply need to create a list and start ticking off boxes so I could finally achieve happiness. Our society places so much value on work accomplishments and career achievements, and it is easy to fall under that spell and assume we can find true meaning in our lives if we simply get that job, make that money, and buy those things. Those things that we consume to hopefully fill the gaping hole in our hearts. These distractions work, at least at first, in making us assume we are doing great, everything is fine. And then the truth creeps back in, as life happens all around us.

I bought this lie, hook, line, and sinker. I dove in head first and made my job my life. I wondered why I still felt empty inside, but I quickly found other vices to help numb my pain. I’d gobble up anything to fill that undeniable void. Booze, clove cigarettes, food, overexertion, binge watching anything and everything. I’d pour myself into shallow friendships, jump off the diving board into clearly unhealthy romantic relationships, do everything for everyone else to prove I was worthy and a “good” person. I wanted to earn love, at any cost to myself.

I was always chasing after love. Whether it was my mother’s love and attention I craved or that of my nonexistent father. Or anyone who might be able to validate my existence. I transferred all my deep-rooted childhood trauma and core wounds onto everyone around me, unbeknownst to me. Oblivious to my pain, I slapped a smile on my face and stepped onto the stage. 

I was slowly killing myself, drinking too much, smoking too much, not taking care of my body. Carrying roughly 60 pounds above what my frame should hold, I experienced pain consistently, but did everything in my power to dull and numb it out.

I remained there, spiraling down a dark path for years. Nothing was clear to me, nor did I really see a way out, until sadly my mother passed away in 2020. But even then, the path was not clear. But at least I, in my foggy state of being, still stepped onto the ground one foot at a time and proceeded forward. 

When my mother passed away, I was devastated and overwhelmed by the loss. I loved my mother, this is true. But the truth is the greatest shock to my life at the time of her passing is that I’d no longer have her to blame. 

This was a harsh revelation for me, and even admitting it here in this essay is a hard pill to swallow. I resented my mother most of my life, for all the things she failed to give and for what she didn’t do to “be better”. Health-wise and emotionally speaking, from my vantage point, my mother ignored her issues and lived a zombie-like existence, needing to constantly buy things and mindlessly eat everything and blaming everyone around her for life. I judged the shit out of her, and I chalked up everything in my life that went “wrong” as her fault, 100%. 

When she died, the mirror appeared and revealed the truth: I was EXACTLY like my mother. 

All the things I “hated” and resented about her, I was doing. 

This epiphany opened my eyes to the fact that if I wanted to “be better,” then I’d actually have to do it. I’d have to work on me and earn it. This meant I’d have to feel, reveal, and heal from all the core wounds I’d experienced and start taking real ownership of my life.

I started therapy. This went well, but was certainly not a quick fix. I started doing yoga and working out a ton. Obsessive I was at first, and perhaps still am, but it took a great deal of energy and focus to get this airplane off the ground and still requires energy to remain diligent. I started crafting personal mantras that I’d repeat to myself day in and day out, and especially at night before I slept. 

All these activities were an expression of love. I owed it to my mom (she couldn’t do it, but I could), and I owed it to myself. 

These promises made to me, the love and care I started to show myself, were inspired by loss. Fueled by grief and anger. But that “food” will only sustain you for so long. What now? 

Two years after my mother’s passing and my true beginnings on the road to healing myself, I still struggle with the great existential crisis of being. I ticked off some boxes after my mother’s death: lost weight, quit smoking, drink very little alcohol, eat less and more mindfully. But what now? 

The truth was, I still felt empty. 

I was still lacking love. I still didn’t love myself, nor did I feel the comforting all-encompassing weight of gratitude for this life. I still had a hole to fill. I then realized that what I really needed was a goal post of purpose. I needed to discover my why. Why was I here, and what could I do while on this earth to truly be the best version of myself? 

Don’t Begrudge the Nudge.

The voice, that whisper was calling for me to do something creative to satisfy my own cravings and desires that may also help to inspire others. I started with short, 60-second videos, which then morphed into “Clock in for your perspective shift” Instagram posts of inspirational quotes and story sharing. I started to paint, to sing, and to write music and poetry. Just doing whatever felt good and right for the moment. 

The nudge was always there. My inner voice, my true self begging to be heard, seen, and loved. In this case, love is to nourish these creative inspirations through doing. 

As kids, we simply did these things, expressed our truest selves without apology. This freedom reigned until we started getting told not to be ourselves, or we were made fun of for doing the things that brought us joy, we started to doubt who we truly are. We wanted to fit in, not stand out, and we became the greatest consumers of all things to numb the pain caused internally. We learned to not be true to ourselves or truly love who we are. 

But the nudge is always there, calling to us to be the best version of ourselves, unique and personal to us. Each and every single one of us has purpose.

What I have come to learn (and I am by no means done) is that I cannot ignore or bury my truth. The truth can present itself as a whisper in my heart, or a nudge to make a better choice, or a slap to my proverbial face. Wake up and be the person you want to be. Don’t dream it, be it. 

A nudge will set you on a path. It is your choice whether you continue on that path or rest in complacency. Listen to your nudges and take care to not hold grudges. This life is yours to live.

My mother taught me many things in her life, and in her death I also learned. I hold all the power to be who I want to be. No one else, just me. It was my choice all along, but I couldn’t see it.

Now I choose to accept the nudge. I do this for her and for me.