I used to be afraid of snakes.
Like, leap-onto-a-chair, screechy afraid.
And then I met my husband-to-be who had a snake living in a terrarium at his house. He named her Madeline, and she had flat, unblinking eyes. She was one long sinewy muscle wrapped in smooth, cool skin. If Madeline was about to molt or hungry, she would stab the air with her blunt snout. When she would strike her prey, her movement was so fast, it was almost imperceptible. Unlike the dogs and cats that I lived with, there was nothing cuddly about Madeline. I wasn’t able to predict what she wanted or what she would do next. I couldn’t read the expression on her face or tune into her feelings. When my husband needed to travel for work, it was on me to feed Madeline. Gradually my responsibilities to her grew. I made sure that she had enough water when she was about to molt, fed her an ideal diet which included live mice, and changed the cedar chips in her terrarium. As I nurtured and sought to understand Madeline, my fear transformed into love and respect.
Last week, I heard my golden retriever companions, Cosmo and Sage, barking. I looked up from my computer and saw them circling a patch of grass. I hurried outside to see a 5-foot-long black racer making its way into my fenced-in garden. I stood between the dogs and the snake as it made its way through the fence and up onto the raised bed. I admired the snake’s shiny black scales and how it elevated the front of its body to navigate up and over the 4x4’s. It seemed confident and purposeful. The snake slid among the peas, barely disturbing a leaf. I admired its grace as it undulated through the squash and chives. It emerged on the other side of the garden, traversed a stretch of grass, and disappeared under a lilac bush near the compost bin. I felt like I’d been visited by a powerful, yet silent and mysterious, friend.
While I’m no longer afraid of snakes, I still encounter thoughts that trigger fear, worry, and anxiety. Our thoughts can be like dogs when seeing a snake: irrational, barking, circling. Our thoughts can make us persist at the wrong time, be reckless when we need caution, aggressive toward harmless situations, and passive about the truly dangerous ones. And yet our thoughts can also guide us into equanimity, gratitude, and bliss.
As someone living with chronic Lyme disease, I must care for and nourish my thoughts and mindset or else experience physical consequences. In caring for my thoughts, I’ve developed a new relationship with my mind and body—one that allows me to thrive.
We are meant to be healthy and thriving. We are meant to be fulfilling our life’s boldest dreams and giving our unique gifts to the world. We can only do that if our bodies and minds are in harmony. Once we become aware of out thoughts and our power to change them, we are capable of profound transformation, like a snake shedding an outgrown skin.
I want awareness, empowerment, and transformation for all of us.
If you are living with chronic Lyme disease and are ready to explore how your mindset influences your health, my signature one-on-one coaching program is for you.
I help you
Be present with uncomfortable thoughts and feelings
Identify your current mindset
Interrupt anxiety and worry
Navigate hopelessness and fear
Create a thriving mindset
Visualize a future where you’re living life to its fullest
