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May 14

Crossing Styx (Revisit)

This post was originally published on October 4, 2023.

I remember a moment in my office when I realized that the journey of grief was about the past and the future. A new life could spring forth. It was the thought that I could plan how my life beyond would look. I got that idea from a book I’d read on grief. The trouble with that type of thinking is that it feels certain, and life is not anywhere near certain. The illusion of control is what would vanish during the next years of my life. While I can plan for some things, where I was led was, in ways, completely unexpected.

I sat looking out the window at the other houses, and I thought I knew where I was headed. I could have drawn up a plan of sorts. Wrong. While we can think about what we want, it is an illusion. Once again, certainty called me out.

There is something about this process that, if we allow it to do so, leads to wonderful and mystical surprises. Around each bend, things that we can’t imagine for ourselves appear, and disappear. Life has a way of doing that to us. Call it what you want: listening to your inner voice, your own knowing; or just letting go, and letting it happen. If we’re able to engage beyond our control, delightful things happen.

In my case I listen, and I have been doing the listening since early childhood. Whatever it is for you, it affects our footsteps as we walk on our path exiting out of the loss we’ve had to face. That day in my office a few years ago has come and gone, and it has proven me wrong. I had no way of making the connection that leads to a transition, because when you’re in it you can’t see it. When you’re in whatever you’re in, you don’t know what you’ve been sucked into.

The real work of grief and loss is found in the liminal spaces, and the times when we can enter back into that “funeral bubble” where life stops for us and we pause to collect the new understandings. We see old relationships in new ways and call them out for what they were. We allow their existence to come to new places within us. It took me somewhere between three and four years to get to this point in the process. Some of it is good, and some of it can be heart crushing. Like a river surging forward, it affects how we understand ourselves, as we leave a sheltered space to travel to a new destination within our personal knowing. Once again, we board a new boat. We’ve been on this boat since the loss happened. We don’t know we’re there because, their nature, death and other losses are traumatic.

During the past few weeks, I’ve begun researching for a book. The research involves reading memoirs involving grief journeys, and I’ve been taken to sadness, visiting old haunts, and a new understanding of where I was, what I could have done better, and ultimately seeing that I’m at yet another place on the river. While my eyes are wide open, I’m scared, and I have questions for myself. Can I navigate this? What is my new soul work? I think this is that space beyond grief where you know you’re someplace else, and once again you find yourself looking back, and this time knowing how you got to this new shore. For me this new place is an intersection that has involved the spiritual, my sexuality, and coming to terms with where I was in my young adult life. It is scary.

I’ve arrived in this liminal place with new skills, and yet, it’s so fresh to me that I wonder if I’m ready for it all. Arriving at a new point in time is more of a recognition than anything else. It is humbling. Once again, I faced a new set of demons down, and moved myself to the new beyond.

In realizing I’m on a new shore, I pause to shed fresh tears. This new set of questions is so different from that August 2016 day when I cried and wondered how I’d do any of this.

I think that in the beginning of the grief process, our knowing and certainty get ripped from us. While we’re busy having ourselves torn apart in the first days, months, and two years, we can’t fully understand the stirrings within. We get grabbed and taken to an underground we didn’t know was present. The underground is a dicey place for several reasons: 1) you don’t know you’re there; 2) you’re still moving along to someplace; and 3) the more inner work you do, the more you discover. The catch to all of this is that we’re underground, and we don’t realize it.

If I could go back and advise the woman of the past—the one that was scared and questioning the “how” of it all—I’d tell her to trust her footsteps. I’d tell her to honor the trauma that the suicide brought into her life, and to understand that this new journey of learning will bring a new calm, along with new acceptance of the essential things. I’d also let her know that grief is like the River Styx.

In a weird way, the living are the ones crossing the River Styx. We cross an underground river to make a grounded connection. Each living journey is unique to itself, and what we begin our crossing with is not what we’ll emerge with. We enter an underground that will propel us to a new, above-ground life. The living work of grief is to cross the River Styx to find ourselves alive in new ways, and on a new shore. At some point in time, we noticed that whatever needed to happen spit us out on this new shore. We’ve lived through our hard work to discover life post whatever tossed us into the boat and sent us shooting onto the waters of darkness. In places the current was strong, and we survived the journey.

There is no way of knowing that the living also traverse the waters of Styx. Maybe this is why grief, and the journey out from it, is so elusive for so many. We fail to understand that where we are is not anything that anyone can warn us about. We are underground, yet seeing light. Our support systems are what provide the lanterns that shine in this underground of Styx. In this place the light dances, dims, and shines brighter until suddenly we’re out!

The work of grief is dark. Grief challenges us to look deep within ourselves, admitting all things and standing as a witness to our own life, and the life of the deceased. We must honor the truth of each life. Like in Speaker For The Dead by Orson Scott Card, we must recognize the truth of our life, and the lives of those gone from us. We find our truth while traveling in the darkness of the River Styx. The work of grief requires this.

I pause with this realization of the journey well-traveled: WOWZA!!!! I dig my feet into the warm sand on the new shore. This is the afterlife! Post Styx. Goodbye, Styx, and thank you for the boat that served me so well.

May 7

Soul Work (Revisit)

In the next few weeks, this blog will do some revisiting of earlier posts. This first one is an author’s pick. I’ve selected it because I’d like to have people think not only about therapy but also about doing the work that goes along with it: soul work.

This post was originally published on February 14, 2023.

-Gail

During my early years of working through grief and loss, I was in survival mode. That is where we all go in the beginning. We revert to the lower levels of survival. We go to the base where we can best survive. Hopefully the house gets cleaned, food gets eaten, and we manage to stay somewhat healthy, both physically and mentally. That is baseline grief. Baseline grief looks ugly. It isn’t a place that most would willingly go to, and when we’re there we want out. 

As time moved me forward, I began to change, to grow, to search for something deep inside. None of this made sense, but then what I was living no longer worked for me. I’d grown into a new place, and it required a new beginning—a new base level to grow from. 

I’ve discovered my mystical side. I fell into the mystical in a most unexpected manner: a former nun and clinical psychologist who led a spiritual life and showed up just when I needed her to do so. She entered my life at a time when I was exploring new things and new options. She walked with me as I engaged in the Ignatian Prayer Exercises. Through his process, I found something that I needed: the ability to sit in silence and contemplate. It was grounded, and it opened up avenues of new understanding, leading me to do the deeper inner work of the soul. This is where East meets West. 

This is where I found out that I needed to chuck what didn’t work because it would never work. I’d been trying to use someone else’s idea of what a spiritual life was. What did I think my spiritual life should look like? It would be unique to me. 

As I engaged in new forms of being in a spiritual way, I began searching for other places of learning. I’d heard about the Enneagram, and hearing my first podcast about it made it seem complex. There was something about this Enneagram thing that drew me to it. I began to look for a book that would explain things in simple terms. I found one called The Road Back to You and digested it. It’s a very basic primer, and what it does very well is enable the reader to get a sense for the number where they might fit. Its downside is that it doesn’t go deep enough. Soon I discovered that there were better ways, and there was more to this thing than nine numbers on a weird-shaped, nine-pointed thing. 

With all the therapy I’d done, and now spiritual direction, I was looking for a spiritual growth tool that I could use for myself, and that I could use to work with clients and directees. If someone is interested in this growth tool, I’ll use it. If not, I don’t pursue it. 

When I first began therapy, I did a great deal of talking. I needed to talk. While the talking helped, and worked for me during that time of my life, deep down I knew I needed more. How does one fully engage with the shadows of a life? How could I deepen and find a path into personal growth that would work for my entire life? I needed to find an Enneagram teacher. There was something in this spiritual growth tool that I wanted. I began to plan and to engage in course work. Good stuff, this Enneagram! I was finding a way to engage the deeper shadows and discovered its power. 

Growth, and the inner work of growth, is never easy. If it is easy, I’ve found that I’m not going deep enough. I’m not being fully honest with myself. Looking into mirrors can be difficult, terrifying, and the greatest gift we can give our souls. It is also tricky. 

I’ve noticed that while people want to change, want answers, and will even tell themselves they can do the changes needed, sometimes the past fouls it up. Sometimes past traumas, letdowns, or the reality of what we must give up to get what we seek traps us. We think it will be easy; we think it won’t hurt; we can’t sit with ourselves for the length of time it will take for the process to affect us and move us into change. We sprint out of the awful, find safety in old ways or a new distraction, and slam the door just when we need to keep it open. Hiding in bubbles doesn’t work. 

It Sounds Scary, but in the End, it Frees You

How do I know if I’m ready? The answer to this question is complex. We don’t find relief in catharsis—that is a temporary fix. Relief is found when you can sit the monster down and engage in a conversation and decide two things: the first thing is that you want to understand the monster, and the second is that you will entertain the monster in conversation so that you can learn from it. 

This is not easy to do, because we delude ourselves by thinking that we can win our monsters over with one simple chat and a table of cookies and tea or coffee. This is not high tea: this is plowing the field and finding the huge clods of earth that need to be broken up and put to use in healthy ways. 

Our monsters want all our tea, coffee, and our cookies. Our monsters lie to us. They tell us that we don’t deserve the good stuff of life. Sometimes our monsters deceive us into believing that there are shortcuts. As much as I love a short route to places, I’ve discovered that I might miss some essential scenery if I don’t stop along the way to engage the process. This brings me back to mirrors and the Enneagram. 

I have found that I can use the Enneagram to understand my monsters. I can meet them in a place where they feel respected by me, and I can converse with them in ways that are generous and insightful. I am taught and moved to new places. I don’t always like my teachers, and that is OK, as long as I hold space for the learning that comes because of the conversations. 

This trip through grief has taught me that there are better paths to follow and better ways of seeing myself and others. This trip through grief has also taught me to question and to find new ideas, and that taking the leap into the unknown can be scary, challenging, and just the thing we need to do to change in unexpected ways. This soul journey is going to last the rest of my life, and that is good.

Apr 30

Facing the Storm Head-On

When I wrote “Psychotherapy Soup,” I failed to mention one thing: showing up authentically to the therapy session. This might sound like a strange statement that I just made, and it was an omission on my part. So, I’m making up for it now.

I’m finding in screening clients who call me that those being referred from a list produced by a third party might be sent to the wrong therapist, or the right therapist at the wrong time!

It is my job to understand when you are ready for me, and when there might be a step before you begin work with me. You may not know, until you talk with a therapist, the path you need to take. This is why we offer consultations, and the chance to figure out if it is the right time for the fit, and the right fit for both of us.

For example: you might want to avail yourself of the hospice chaplain before the person dies. Then you might want to give it a while to see IF you really need to do more work around your loss. In this age of the “instant” fix, waiting is a good thing, and it is becoming a lost skill. On the other hand, when you are a year out, and you or someone else notices your lack of functioning, it might be time to give yourself the opportunity to get connected with the right therapist for you. This means that you may have to vet some people.

How can you vet a therapist when your brain isn’t fully functioning? Take the time to ask friends. I say this because in this period of your grief, your concentration, sleeping, and moods may all be out of sync. It can take time to get back into a synced space. In 2026 we’re still in that place of the instant everything. People want to move on to the next relationship, but they might not want to walk the path of the journey, and it is a path that does serve a purpose. People are avoiding the work of going through it to get to the place of being raw and sitting with some super uncomfortable stuff. Some people want to get to the other shore before they’ve done the work of crossing Styx.

The catch in all of this is that you need to be able to show up authentically so that you can do the real work of healing.

Healing is really hard work. Grief is not for wimps! It takes major guts to sit in a session, and to let it all hang out, and then to claim the pain, the loss, the sorrow, and to face the truth in the relationship that has been lost. The fact is that even good or great relationships need a good sorting out! Fear is one of the reasons people may be quick to find someone new and not go through all the grieving process that they need to complete before moving forward in a healthy manner.

I recall at somewhere between year three and four, when the ugly crying was all cried out and the new tears came into being, that I realized I could finally face the sorting of this marriage I’d been in. Here I was, and then, and only then, was I able to do the work of facing the caregiving, and the fact that his bipolar disorder had put me into a place of compassion fatigue. This was close to the four-year mark of his death! He’d done the deed in 2016, and now, smack, in the middle of the pandemic, I’m coming to terms with having to face the truth about what I’d lived through, and what I’d done. 

It is known that people who have to settle complicated estates may not begin to grieve until the last meetings with lawyers and the courts are finally behind them. It is then that the real tears come, and people in their lives think to themselves, “Why are they falling apart now? They’ve been so strong.” NO, they were in survival mode. Now, two or three years out, they can finally let loose with the grief.

Grief takes the form it needs to take until the body and the mind can let it all out.

And so, showing up to a therapist’s office in an authentic way might take time because while you know you may need to do the work of healing, you aren’t ready to do the work because the time isn’t right.

Therapists lack crystal balls. While some of us might possess a gut sense for things because we’ve hung out in this space for some time, our knowing is limited.

I’m pretty good at sensing in a call or a first session if this is a good fit. I’m also not afraid to tell you I’m not the right person for you. I think that some people view finding a therapist as a shopping excursion. You go into the shop and see something you like. You figure that it will do just fine. Then, you get it home, and you find that it is all wrong. Now, can you take it back? Maybe, and maybe not.

What would the experience of shopping be like if you did some research before you purchased something? In March I was looking for a new dress, and my usual online sources were not working for me, and so, like the intelligent soul I was, I put out feelers on Facebook. Two friends responded, and they told me about an online source I didn’t know about. It solved my desire for dots, and it allowed me to discover a place that had dresses I like. It also answered the question of how I will rebuild my wardrobe for the spring and summer.

The fact is that it is OK to research until the right person is found. That being said, don’t be so selective that you pass over a good therapist.

I’ve spoken about my own journey of healing with grief and trauma. It took me about four months of meeting therapists and screening them out to know that I needed to see if a therapist I knew would be willing to work with me. I knew after shopping around that I’d found the person. The question for me was: Am I willing to give up one relationship to benefit the relationship of healing? Was I also ready to do some intense work, and take the time it would take to do that work? I realized that there would be no perfect time to do what needed to be done. I wrote a mail, and we met. I told him that I expected him to treat me as a client/patient and not like a therapist who knew about therapy. I would show up as myself, do the work in an authentic manner, and I was enabled to clear the battlement and the iceberg out in the ocean. The deal was that I had to be willing to show up and not mess around.

The other part of the deal was that I had to be willing to go through some scary stuff, and do it alone. I say that because the stuff I cleared isn’t stuff you really should put on friends.

Doing the work of healing is all about courage. Facing the work in the moment it happens takes guts, and it isn’t for wimps. It’s about facing the storm head-on and believing that you can get past it by going through it, because on the other side there is a better way of being. Well, in 2026 the storm has blown out.

Apr 23

Exiting the Stuff-It Club

The battlement is empty, the communication office has shut down, and unemployment has been granted to all. I think they are sipping drinks on the warm beaches of their dreams. Hmm, did those imaginary souls have imaginary bucket lists? Oh, before I get too silly, I’ll move forward.

I want to note here that it is somewhat risky to admit that I sought treatment for trauma. I have done the writing I have to inform people, and to normalize what I have done. I’m exiting the “stuffing-it club.”

If you had asked this former professional “stuff-it” expert at any age if I’d be writing these words, I’d have laughed you out of the space we were both in. I flash back in my mind to the young Gail in her twenties, and the therapist that should have been able to see a wee bit more than she did. I give her grace and grant her a pass. She walked me out of one mess, and it was good.

The fact of psychotherapy is that in the 1970s we didn’t know enough about PTSD or any form of trauma to treat it effectively. Some of what is now listed in the Diagnostic and Statical Manual (DSM) wasn’t there, and is only present now because of what we know now, and have learned, and will continue to learn. Cut us some slack.

In the late 1980s it was a short encounter with a therapist who enabled me to ask myself one or two vital questions. The guy served his purpose well.  

In the 1990s two therapists taught me about approaches to healing that I needed to experience. I was able to count those hours as part of the state requirement for therapy. However, I’d stuffed childhood into the deep reaches of my mind. It lived there until in 2023. I knew I’d need to pull it out and finally take it all apart. You’ve read the posts about the journey. A few hundred words into this post, I want to talk about what is happening to me now.

About two weeks ago the end of the process happened. OK, not the full end, but the end of the process of working through all the trauma.

As the dust settles and I sit with myself, the things I notice are good, and at the same time I understand that I’m going to need to grieve some things that could have been different: things that could have been and never will be. Saying goodbye to the past in a healthy way also means greeting the present in the spirit of grace and mercy for myself. Saying hello to the present means facing what has been missed out on and making peace with it. I did the stuffing, and I’ll claim it.

Well now, this is a new type of grief. I can do this!

I started to notice the changes in my responses to everyday things shortly after the end of the process came. This first one is huge: I don’t say shit and fuck the way I once did. Swearing is shorthand for getting what we’re feeling out fast. Fine, go ahead and let it rip, and then after the shorthand try to do the long response. I believe that because the calm has come into my life. I’m in a place to react to the nutty things in a calm manner. Here’s an example: I got a mail informing me that the government wants a crazy amount of money from me. I did what many would do: I let a few choice words rip. Then, I pulled back for an entire weekend and thought about how to do this ugly thing. Both responses were needed, and I was able to work through possible solutions. Am I happy about what I’ll have to do? NO. However, getting there in a calm fashion is a great outcome. I’m also liking myself better for what doesn’t happen to me now. The anger was not who I am.

Another positive outcome from doing this kind of work is that I see things in a new way. I’m a good therapist: this I know due to client feedback, and being in touch with myself. Because of what I’ve done for myself, I’m an even better therapist. The reason why I can hold out with grace for my past therapists and myself is that I get that they can’t be judged for what they couldn’t and didn’t know. I wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened to me.

In 2026 we now understand how trauma affects the body and the mind. We understand about feedback loops and responses to things, and we get how the brain and body learn to respond to trauma. I can also send someone to a psychiatrist to see if medication is indicated. At the appropriate time I might also refer someone to needed allied specialists that are out of my scope of practise. Now, within mental health, we’ve got options that your parents didn’t have!

I want to mention that all therapists should keep a supervisor on the payroll. We also need to have the ability to take things to our own therapists. A second pair of eyeballs on our own issues is a must. I’m thankful that I have the needed eyeballs.

Apr 16

Free Yourself

This past week as the session with the therapist unfolded, I found that I’d come to the end of the journey, and a sense of completion entered my soul. I’d done it! I’d faced it all down: the process of not only ten years but beyond that. I’m pretty sure there was a celebration out at sea where my beautiful iceberg resides. These days she floats majestically on the water. I like to envision her that way. I don’t need her anymore, and that is a good and celebratory thing.

So, that day and the next I spent twirling, and allowed for the happy to be present as it should. My only complaint was the lack of good, wholesome American junk food to splurge on.

The weekend allowed me to just be, and to do nothing, which is what I did. I think I finally let the entire energy of the journey I’d been on hit. Now, as I sit at my desk, I realize that I have little to say as the process of debriefing and grieving can now enter the work. I suspect that whatever words I don’t have now will come in time and, as they need to, emerge.

As I’ve gone through the process, I’ve let the therapist be my therapist, and I’ve tried to just be the person seeking the help. It has been a real exercise in letting it all go, and I’m glad I did it this way.

I’m now cleaning things up as I enter this final stage of the process. I think I’m going to find both good and hard in this process as I step back and take a good hard look at what has gone down. You turn around and look behind you, and this time, instead of carnage, you can see the WOW in clear light. Once again, the river has been navigated with skill.

As I sit here, I realize that I’ve really healed, and while it has been hard, it’s been a good process.

What I’ll face next will be a different type of work, and hard in its own way. It is the doing of the hard work that enables us to move forward in peace.

I celebrated another year around the sun this weekend. It was anticlimactic. I was in a place of letting the therapy that had been done do its thing. So, I had not shopped for the day, and I don’t think there will be any treats until I get to my favorite chocolate shoppe, and there I’ll select some joyous treats. I’ll have to wash everything down with loads of water. This is an argument for chocolate first and meals after!

My own holiday has happened. I purchased two new dresses and have enjoyed wearing both. Which is one of the pluses of doing the work I’ve done. I’ve opened the gate to Gail-things back into my life. I must say that this is a happy thing to do—it has been colorful as well!

As my mother once said when asked what to buy me for a gift: “Just give her clothes and she’ll be happy.” True, I gave myself dresses, and I’m happy.

I think the celebration is one of being content in both my age and my psychological state. As the week moves on, I’m finding that this isn’t a giddy happy: it’s the state of a job well done, and a pride of knowing that I listened to what was going on inside, felt it, heard it, and then decided to boldly go where I needed to go: to face the frontier of allowing myself to be healed. This journey has been worth all of it! It’s been worth the painful nights of tears and loneliness when, at times, I had to give all to my higher power. I had to trust that in letting go, the damage that had been done could be jettisoned. It worked as it should have. I had to let the words and the work I was doing stand.

I’m not sure if I can do this justice. I’m going to give it my best shot here. This type of healing takes courage, brutal honesty with one’s self, and the guts to speak the unspeakable to another, and to allow yourself to hear the ugly of it all. It is about throwing down the gauntlet and being wise enough to know that you, and only you, are the one who can cross it. To complicate matters, only you can sense within yourself when it is safe to do the “within” work. Don’t let yourself be deceived by the fact that you need to have everything in place. There is never a time when all the stars in the universe will align enough for you to get the cosmic green light. This type of work is stuff that you push yourself into for whatever the reason is. You realize that if you don’t do it, you will add more to what is present. Do it now or you will be living with it for the rest of your life, and that is not an option.

What pushed me to really do my own work? In one year, I was hospitalized and could have died twice. Both experiences were traumatic in different ways. Both sent me into the “I’ve got to find the right therapist” mode. Both experiences let me know I couldn’t do what I needed to do alone. “Therapist, heal thyself” is not an intelligent thing to engage in. If I had tried to do that, I would have needed to declare myself a fool. You know the saying about how lawyers who defend themselves have fools for clients. There is a point in time when you must gather your courage and walk out to the dock and send a message to the captain: I’m going to give you the relief you deserve. It is my time to take this all on. The captain who resides out there at sea may or may not understand what will happen. The stuff trapped in the iceberg does understand, and that is how you become resistant to the big change that is coming. The stuff in the iceberg may like being in there, all safe and comfy in its own space. The stuff might tell you not to disturb it. The stuff is a liar. Your unconscious likes the status quo despite the fact that even deeper down it is begging and pleading to be freed of the ugly junk. Allow yourself to search for the right person to help you heal.

I could say more. I won’t. I’m going to let this stand and come back to it all at some other time. Give yourself a gift: free the iceberg, and free yourself.

Apr 9

Table Time

It’s starting to be a thing again: families are gathering around a table at mealtime to talk and to find out what is going on in life. Now, this meal activity proceeds everyone placing electronic devices in a basket. It seems as if, slowly and quietly, society might be heeding the call of researchers such as Jonathan Haidt and rethinking how media is playing out in a family’s daily life.

I grew up with family dinners. We knew that at 5:30 the family had to gather, and we sat around the table. We talked; my father displayed humor by making faces, and it was funny. He was a serious man. I couldn’t do what he did with his face. After the meal we’d go outside until dark and play with the neighborhood kids. We made our own rules, and we worked out our differences with no adults present.

When my friend’s brother fell out of our tree at my house, she and I stayed put, and our mothers took care of it. We were scared because broken bones are scary things. Life went on, and it became an event that had happened. When I broke a bone while riding my bike at a friend’s house, her mother didn’t panic: she checked me out, and when my parents came to get me, they took me to the ER. Broken bones happen when kids learn and explore their universe. Her family had dinner around the table too. I think it made a difference in how some things got handled.

There were phones only in the family spaces, and maybe as we got older, we might have a phone in our room.

I think one of the things that happens as we converse as families and parents is that they know who their children are spending time with. Both sides learn to build trust, and that trust builds with each experience and, slowly, more freedom is given. Friendships are strengthened and, relationship by relationship, goodwill builds in homes, schools, and neighborhoods, and it can spread out from there.

We learn about holding differing views in our homes. When healthy family structures exist, differences are accepted and respected. Lively discussion can happen, and children can learn to test voicing opinions in a safe environment. I was fortunate to understand that my parents had differing political views, and they could discuss them and understand each other, and it was normalized. This was part of the conversation in my household. I can’t say the same thing for my paternal grandparents. Politics was off-limits. It wasn’t a healthy place to discuss many things.

I grew up without tech. We made tin-can phones with wire. We learned to type on a manual typewriter that operated on finger power. Stranger danger wasn’t a thing back then. Now, states pass “free-range laws,” and the kids need to know about safety and their communities. I knew all of that growing up: it was expected that I’d know how to navigate on my bike.  

You might want to argue that it isn’t as safe now. Really? Could there be media hype about stranger danger? Could parents be sheltering children too much? Are we stressing children with lessons and other activities to the point of it being a bad thing? Children need to have time to explore and to play! The fact is, most kids don’t really understand free play because it’s all scheduled.

I’ve seen a child in a therapy session not understand how to imagine or create. When I give them tools to create, they grasp onto it. They aren’t acting out what they see on a screen: they’re working through things in their own way and on their own terms.

I’ll also state that when there are healthy boundaries in a household, this can work really well. So, the question becomes, how do I enable healthy boundaries to happen in a dysfunctional situation? Let’s say you live in a place where the furnace is set to come on at 70° Fahrenheit, and it is to shut off at 75°. As long as things work, everything is normal. Peace and happiness are present. It works like this in families. The degree variance is like the rules, and as long as everyone holds to the rules, there is homeostasis. Go outside of the rules, and things can get bumpy. Bumpy isn’t pleasant. So, in a family, the more flexibility there is, the better things can be. A five-degree variance is much too narrow, and while it might work for heating, it won’t work in a healthy family. A family therapist can guide a family to reset the family thermostat, because sometimes you didn’t learn it in your own family, and it is never too late to make a change. Once you can have skills, healthy conversations happen. It is a learning process, and you will fail into success. Learning is all about making mistakes and getting up again.

So, there is one other thing about families I want to mention. Your family may not look like someone else’s. People live in different situations, and things like work schedules creep into things. Tech might not be an issue because you can’t afford tech in the home. Schedule a time to engage and check in. Whether it is low-income housing or a mansion, it’s all about committing to learn to talk to each other. It all boils down to flexibility and commitment.  

I now tell parents that I work with to restrict their media time and their children’s media intake. I suggest sit-down meals. These two things help in a few ways:

  1. It gets everyone talking to each other because you become focused on the conversation.
  2. It provides a structured place to learn proper table manners, and it serves as a teaching tool for real-world dining-out experiences.
  3. You have to ask to be excused after finishing the meal, so you also learn to sit with a conversation where you may not agree with stated views.
  4. You find out what is going on in each other’s lives.
  5. You learn that talking is about learning to understand the other person’s point of view, and to explore the why of their view.
  6. When you take these conversational skills out in public, you might find that you can build relationships where differing views can exist, and so your circle of friends expands in its diversity.
  7. You begin to build peace and understanding in the home and can take it out into the greater world.

Right now, what we need more than anything else is to talk to one another, and to build bonds of understanding and acceptance for each other.

Some of this might sound out-of-date. I’ll tell you it is working for clients, for friends, and others I know. It’s about table time.

Apr 2

Twirling in My Mind and Heart

Moving into a place where I can say that the work of healing is complete has been a process of reclaiming my heart, my head, and a few pretty new dresses. I feel like I’m on a fantastic journey.

I’ve crushed on an iceberg and fallen headfirst into a delightful new place of being. It only took forever to get here! I’m alive!

What can I say but “Welcome to your new world, Gail.”

If I had known then what I now know, I’d have taken my own therapeutic advice and done all of this sooner. Or would I have?

I think part of getting professional help is all about timing and feeling good about doing it. This process comes from within, and one of the challenges people face is finding the right fit.

Sometimes people get lucky and they connect with the right fit from the first try, and other times it is a series of calls and sessions. Sometimes a person will not understand why the therapist wants to refer—yet again—to another therapist. We’re doing it for you, the client, because whatever the reason, it isn’t a good fit.

In my journey, I went through several therapists before I found the right professional. My process was helped by the fact that I knew and understood what I needed to be looking for from someone who did the work I needed to be guided through. I had more than one “nope, not it” situation. I followed my gut, tapped into my resources, and finally said yes to a gifted mind surgeon. We matched well. I’m glad I had the patience to ride it out.

Things have changed in so many ways, and now as I near the finish line for one portion of the process, I begin to see what needs to happen next.

Soon, it will be mop-up time: the time after the battle when you do the cleaning and are able to see the new area for real.

I don’t feel sad; I feel a sense of peace. I can claim my life in a new way.

Yesterday I was interviewed for a podcast. I put on a pretty dress, did my hair, and sat in a calm state of mind. When it was done, I realized that this would be a two-parter. I spoke about the process I’d been through in the last ten years as it related to my church life. For the first time in a long time, peace ruled the process. I’m finding that, in a happy way, I’m unpeeling the new, yet old, personality of Gail. It is the Gail who enjoyed a pretty dress and always will. It is the Gail who can twirl in delight over happy things. It is also the Gail who now stands as a new adult to say, “This is the real me, stand aside, I need to do new things in my life.”

Healing is about being able to calmly think and reason through the essential things of life. It is about being intact in new ways and allowing for reason to rule where it once failed because you were too busy broadcasting out to the captain on the vessel. We can now look at the stuff we had to send out to the iceberg, discharge it, and celebrate a life built and based on safety and a peaceful heart and mind.

Recently, a friend began a GoFundMe for her disabled son. I heard her words, read the post, and decided what I was willing to give. In the past I would have made a choice to give but I would have jumped through the hoop of being unreasonable in my donation. It felt good to press the button on this, and not vacillate over doing so.

Lately, I’m thinking that I’m liking my personal life much more than I did a year ago. I’m not hiding anymore. It is liberating!

Last week I splurged on myself and allowed myself to buy two fine dresses for my birthday that will arrive in April. Hopefully, the warm weather will come too.

I realized that I’ll need some warm things for the winter, and this time it will be things that I really like because settling is no longer an option. This is all exciting and wonderful, and I’m liking this part of the process.

I couldn’t have done this in any other way, and I celebrate the time it took. Moving towards the real me is a gift. I’ll be twirling in my mind and my heart, and I can’t resist the smile that is breaking out on my face. The end of this portion of the journey is close!

Mar 26

On My Way to Somewhere Else (Revisit)

This post was originally published on December 9, 2021.

Losses in our lives happen in many ways, and my greatest loss happened while I was trying to get to somewhere else that wasn’t on my agenda, or at least not in print. It happened in a way I won’t forget: a walk downstairs to find an altered life. A note on the dinner table telling me where his body was. That was the part of the promise he did keep.

We write scripts for our lives, and when they are interrupted the jolt can be confusing and difficult to understand. While we’re making our way along the road, the demons interrupt our peaceful walk and give us the boot off our carefully manicured path into something more like sludge, mess, and unexpected confusion.

At first, we panic, and then we try to extricate ourselves from this place, only to find ourselves pulled further into the mess of the sludge. When we realize that we can best exit the sludge by remaining calm, relaxing, and working with it, we’re free to embrace it. We can then deal with the mess in this new place. We figure out that the best method for getting free from where we are now trapped is exploring it for alternative exit options. That is how most grief and loss journeys begin: a surrender to the unknown.

I got out of the immediate sludge state and realized that there was a mountain in front of me, and that I needed to go through it to reach the place I needed to get to. That was both a relief and rather terrorizing.

With the unwanted interruption to our lives, we forget where we were headed, focusing on the path before us that has become cluttered with boulders, fallen trees, and strange critters that inhabit the once pristine path we thought we were on, and realizing that we’ve been transported to a much different place altogether. Where are we? What is this about, and will it be a help or hindrance?

No, we’re not in Oz or anyplace like it, though a part of us may wish for ruby slippers that we can click to take us magically back to before we wound up wherever this is now. We don’t get the slippers. Instead, we receive a walking stick that will come in handy in turning over the rocks, giving us leverage to lift the heavy trees that block our route, and in testing the strange new critters to see if they are friend or foe.

It’s taken several minutes to construct this, and yet the descent into this place happens instantly. We’re just not aware that within seconds of hearing they’re dead, “I’m leaving you,” “I’m moving out to pursue…,” or whatever the loss is, we’re sent by our mind into this place. As we grapple with it in those first few moments, we realize that our control is gone. Will we ever be the same? Will our world ever feel the same?

The Answer Everyone Wants

In this place we ask: When will it end? And when will things return to normal? The honest answer that we eventually discover is that we’ll develop a new normal, discover a new life path, and renegotiate what our personal universe looks like and what it is filled with. We forget about the old somewhere that had held us captive and begin searching for a new somewhere else. The catch to this search is that things no longer work the way they once did. The topsy-turvy has flung us into the unknown. All we can do is thrash around until we find something to grab onto that feels stable. 

We start to learn that the tears, the missing, and the uncertainty will fade over time, and in their place the texture and quality of what is present in our lives changes. Slowly, we stop asking when and start focusing on the how to of this new place. This leads us to finding a support system, a new village of people that is populated with those who will become our new friends. They understand where we are! They’ve been in the sludge, gotten out, and faced their own mountain. They’ve dismissed some old village residents due to the fact that they left the village or are not able to attend to the needs in the village at this time. We find a therapist who speaks our language and we seek out spiritual direction, or stumble into another path altogether. As we gain strength and our concentration returns, we begin reading books and are able to question and act on those questions. 

This new place of discovery is exciting, scary, and wide open. Oh, the options that we can explore! Slowly, the places we were headed fade away, and we’re left only with new things to discover. 

You know how people say that we’ve changed? We have! If we do the work of grief, loss, and pain well enough, we reinvent ourselves. There are old things, new things, and a bunch of creation waiting to spring forth. It can all be good. In the meantime, the question we wanted answered disappears as we become involved in the process of creating new life within ourselves. New life and meaning are unique to each of us.

The tears and the missing are still present. They’ve taken on a new form and texture. For me, it was somewhere in my year three that I noticed the real change. How did this happen? It wasn’t about time; it was processing and a world view change. It is something we experience and understand due to the work we do around our grief, loss, and pain, effecting change deep within. 

Noticing the Gift

For some people, the loss and the grief that are encountered become a gift. What? How can this be? I’ll admit that on August 29, 2016, if you had told me I’d be typing these words in 2021, I’d have had said something to the effect of “You’re nuts!” I’m typing this and I know I’m not nuts. Telling someone at the beginning of the process that change will happen is counterproductive to the process. There are some “please do’s” and “please don’ts” that are essential to observe.

Relationships can trap us, cause us to shortchange ourselves, or make us second-guess what we want in our lives—to name just a few of the things that can happen. The fact that she cheated on you and didn’t want to work it out is sad. After the heartache passes, a new discovery of freedom comes.

He or she is now gone; the love you once had will always remain, and now you are asking new questions. You want something different from before, and finding it is a good thing. You haven’t changed; you’ve grown! You are beginning to trust your own knowing, and this is an essential component of finding the new place of existence.

The gift of the tragedy is not pleasant. We are called to understanding through the unveiling of new options that we truly have choices if look and access them in the present. It is what we find buried in the rubble that was once sitting out in the open, waiting for us to discover it for the first time. 

We couldn’t see it where we were because our understanding of our lives was focused on the life we had then. We weren’t stumbling along the path, attempting to find the new points of entrance into the new place that we need to get to.

I know some who have needed to step into employment for the first time in their lives and now report feeling fulfillment in a way they never have before. I know others who took the chance of a new career. Somehow, the lack of security allowed them to risk big! For others, it is doing the same thing with fresh new insight into the things they value most. For me, it resulted in several things. My favorite is that I returned to school for a certificate in spiritual direction. I love the program! Would I have discovered this had I not been widowed? NO! It took me moving to a new place and finding a new path to walk to do what I’m doing now.

Along the way, we employ new navigation strategies, discover our “rose rooms,” and come to an understanding that the interruption that occurred on the way to somewhere else, while tragic, has become a touchstone in our lives.

Mar 19

The Civility of Kind Words

This year, as part of Lent, I gave up swearing because I noticed I was doing too much of it. I didn’t like what I was hearing my own mouth say. Now, swearing has caused me to become aware of another something in society.

I’m getting irritated by people using the word “bitch.” I’m getting annoyed by the disrespect it shows to women. I’m also saddened that women tolerate being called bitch. So, I’m going to voice my thoughts.

If a woman stands her ground and asserts her needs, she is often called a bitch, even though what she is doing is the healthy thing for herself. People, an assertive woman should be celebrated! She should be held up as an example! She knows what she needs, and will go to the mat for it.

I don’t respect a man who calls a woman a bitch. There is never a reason to do that, and in my mind, it only proves to me that the man involved isn’t very aware of who he is and is only showing his disrespect for women. Calling a woman a bitch is also a form of verbal abuse.

The fact is that the use of the word has become so common that is has lost its meaning. Society is downgrading itself to a new low.

In our rush to become cool and hooked into social media, are we rushing too fast and not realizing what we’re leaving behind? Civility.

Authors such as Jonathan Haidt have been commenting on the damage of media as it relates to children and adolescents. I’m seeing it in my practice with younger adult clients and their use of media. I’m hearing it as the person uses blanket terms to talk about someone. When I ask them to slow down and identify how they feel, I often hear: “I don’t know.” And yet, when someone does slow to identify what they are feeling, they are pleasantly surprised by what they discover. People have sped things up so that they no longer have the insight they could have. It is as if people don’t want to slow down and think. It has become easier to distract ourselves from our own personal truth.

I’ll give you an example. I can easily pick up on when someone has a search going on during the therapy session. Distraction comes in many forms. The fact is, we’ve become a society that wants it now, and can’t wait if we can’t have it instantly. What happened to the slow-cooked soup? We go with the flow, and we don’t stop to think about calling a woman a bitch because now it is just done. During a conversation, we aren’t focused on the present but distracted by needing to know something RIGHT now. Here’s a news flash: Your being on the screen when I’m in a conversation with you is rude. Just like calling a woman a bitch shows great disrespect for others.

Society has become too engrossed in the fast fix to stop, put the phone, the pad, or the computer on hold. We’ve forgotten the human equation. We’ve forgotten about giving each other the courtesy of time. It makes me think of what Crichton said in Jurassic Park. To summarize: the technology exists but should it be used? Don’t get me wrong about tech: I’m the owner of a Mac, an Air, an iPhone, and the watch. They are tools! In a conversation I set them all down, and I listen to the person in front of me. And now, I’m in the place of teaching others to show some respect. It is about the person. And yet, you see disrespect on the screen. It’s that some writers are displaying poor writing skills, and if the writer doesn’t have good verbal skills, they can’t convey in a script the appropriate emotions along with the proper social skills. What winds up being portrayed is something that is less accurate. That is what becomes the norm due to the fact that people believe what is on the screen over reality. It makes me think of the mother asking her kid: “So, if everyone walked over the edge, would you?” The fact of the matter is that, in many ways, we’re allowing each other to walk over the edge without giving much thought to our actions, and parents are allowing their children to walk off the cliff! As Maya Angelou stated: “When you know better, you do better.” Society, take note: We can, and must, do better. Researchers such as Brené Brown and Jonathan Haidt are pointing out where we’re messing up.

It seems like society has lost track of what healthy norms are! It is time to know better, and do better in so many ways. It is time to not rush to judgement about “the other person.” It is time to slow down, breathe, and ask ourselves if we want to be treated as poorly as we might be treating others.

Do we really want to have our words work for, or against us?

Over a decade ago another woman called me a bitch. I stopped her and explained to her that while she thought she was being socially cool, I did not appreciate the remark. I am not a bitch. That is disrespectful to me, and to all women. It shocked her. She had education. What she didn’t have was good social education. I became a parental role model for her because I didn’t let her calling me a bitch slide. No one had ever taken the time to educate her about that social nicety. If you don’t know, then now you are learning.

I’d like to propose that we think of civility in terms of letting it begin with each of us. “Let there be civility on earth, and let it begin with my words, and actions.”

Mar 12

No, You Don’t Understand

An estimated 1.3 billion people, or approximately 16% of the global population (1 in 6), experience significant disability. This number is increasing due to population aging, the rise of chronic health conditions, and environmental factors. The vast majority (about 80%) of disabled persons live in developing countries. The result is what comes up when I did a search on Google. It is a WHO statistic. So, on behalf of over one billion people, most of whom are not in a developed nation, I’m going to gripe.

I’ve said it before: disability is non-discriminatory. Or, put another way, it just doesn’t care who you are. Disability gets you when you’re born, and it can be a part of what takes you out when you die. It is the big uncertainty in life. We can be any skin color, faith, gender, or age. Disability doesn’t care. It just plows through our lives. And most disability shows up in places where the developed world won’t ever visit.

We turn the disabled into some type of false hero. All a disabled person is doing is surviving the way they must. We are not heroes of any sort, and to put such a person on a pedestal may serve your ignorant needs: it isn’t helpful to the community. Rant over.

So, let me tell you about my day in the developed world.

I owe some things I can’t do to the fact that charitable souls have compassion and enable me to do them. This time it began on a Friday and escalated to this last Sunday while trying to pay bills. I was on the bank app, and all of a sudden, the thing went bonkers and told me I had to reactivate the app! It gets crazier, so, buckle up people, this is a wild ride.

Monday rolls around, and I try to do the thing that no almost blind person with only ten percent of her vision should try to do. I call the bank and wind up with a twit who keeps telling me she understands. NO, she doesn’t, and the fact that she keeps telling me the she does understand only proves that she doesn’t get my situation at all. Finally, she tells me that I need to go to a service point. The nearest service point is a good 20-minute drive, and more by bus. Now, I’m wanting to rip her ignorant thoughts to shreds. In frustration, I hang up. I finally go to my neighbour’s. He says he’ll help and asks me if I’m sure I want to allow him to have this data. OK, NO, I don’t want anyone in my data, BUT do I really have a choice? NO. I get things put right with the app. All is well. BUT NO, it isn’t. Now I need to get my business account back. This one is easier because there is no scanning involved. I can do this!

After I don’t know how many attempts to get it done, I call the bank, again, and get sent over to the business division of support. I wind up with someone who answers the phone happily. I explain my problem and my visual situation. She listens, and she gets it. OK, so we’ll do this slow. She can see from her end what is going on with things. After a couple of attempts we’re both puzzled by the lack of success. Then she asks if I’m on the business tab. WHAT? I didn’t see that. Am I the only person who doesn’t see that tab? No, I’m not. OK, so now I’m on the right tab, and it still doesn’t work. I’m not an idiot; I can do this. She’s stymied. I’m not knowing what to think, and then she says OK, this is a hail Mary pass, here it goes. What if, when you were on the app on Sunday, somehow the app went and updated itself, and you got told to reactivate? Go to the App store and see if you are told to upgrade the bank app.

So, off I go! Holy Moly, it is telling me to upgrade! So, I do the upgrade. I do the data again; I wait, and then, spontaneously, and without thought, I sing what I always sing when something like this happens: “HOLY MOLY, she threw the pass, Mary caught it, and it worked.”

Now, what I haven’t told you about this call is that the two of us are having a delightful conversation. We’re laughing, and trying to fix the crazy, and it took almost an hour. Now, she’s reporting this strange thing to the powers up the line. I.T. is gonna muse over this one.

She never said that she understood. She became a conduit for accessibility. We worked to get it fixed.

The sun is shining, and it is warming outside. The country is happy the sun has arrived. Spring is springing, and I can go out without a heavy jacket.

I pause, and once again, I give thanks: a thank you, because there are compassionate souls out there who will care enough to get that I’m not any type of a hero. I’m just trying to live my life, and to get things done. I just have extra hoops to jump through.

So, let’s talk about hoops. The hoops that could be made easier and that would give many of the disabled a fair shake at an easier existence.

Since I’ve lived here, I’ve heard countless references to the ADA, or Americans with Disability Act. Banks, public buildings, and all government sites must be accessible to everyone. So, ramps for wheelchairs and PIN machines, and web sites must be usable to everyone. Grocery stores and other commercial outlets do not have to comply. Somehow, the ADA is seen as the solution in countries that aren’t the US. I still had to deal with things that were not safely accessible to me if I wanted to go grocery shopping. Now, I do this online.

While the ADA allowed for equal Education for all through the IEP, or Individual Education Plan, for K–12 in the school system, it is not a guarantee that the plans will be put in place or meet all a child’s needs. The ADA is a great piece of legislation. The IEP, on the other hand, can’t guarantee that students, their parents, or education staff can create all resources needed. An example of this is that the IEP pigeonholes the person: for instance, a child that is both learning disabled and academically a high achiever. The school may not provide the proper resources for both situations. Where would the schools have put Einstein? During his living years Einstein spoke of having problems with reading and getting the right words out. It is thought that he may have been dyslexic. There are other processing disorders that could explain his spoken-of communication issues. I have friends who had to fight for children in this exact situation.

I’ve witnessed as clients with children in this category struggle to make it work for their kids. The truth is that income level can determine options. Parents who can afford private education where class sizes are smaller have children who can, in most situations, obtain the resources they need to thrive in an education setting. HOWEVER, having said that, even income may not enable children to have what they need. I’m saddened that this also happens.

The fact is that most public education is geared towards the traditional teaching process. I would have done better if I could have not only seen it and heard it: I wanted to touch it. What if the learner needs to include touch in their process? Chances are, that isn’t going to be a possibility.

As I write this, I struggle with the fact that, for some people, I’m writing about things that can’t be, and I’m writing about things that are so far beyond the developing world. Then, as I pause, I remember a TED talk about a wise educator who modelled the world for his class, and the kids had to come up with solutions to the world’s problems. As the school year came to an end, there were still unresolved issues. He though the kids would fail at it—just like adults are failing to do the right things. Then, as the clock wound down, the children came together, and through compromise and imagination, the world in that classroom resolved it all. They wiped out poverty. Maybe we should be asking our children! I think they may understand.

Mar 5

Dotted Trauma

Before I move forward, here are numbers for the year of Jon’s death by suicide. According to the WHO, there were approximately 817,000 deaths by suicide in 2016. I am a survivor of a loved one’s suicide, and I’m an expatriate who resides in the EU. This post is about how grief shuts us down, and then slowly turns the lights on in our lives—again. This is a post about dots.

In the 1990’s it was a pretty dress with blue and white dots that I loved to wear. The white top with blue dots sparkled, and the skirt, with its reversal of blue and white dots, delighted me.

In the late 2000’s it was a brown and white dress with a small sash that made me smile. I wore that one until it needed to see other uses.

This past weekend I ordered a new dress with dots. It came about because a friend of mine has such a dotted dress, and she said that I needed to order one myself. I think my joy over seeing her in the dress caused her to tell me to order such a dress myself. I had not thought of acquiring a new dress of joy. The fact is, suicide can shut a person down. It is a different flavor of death and grief. My brain lay dormant for ten years of grief. Gail wasn’t functioning as Gail once did, and the joy of the dots got wiped out. Think of it as a functional shutdown that allows the person to look as if it is all going well. The machine works but not as well as it could. It is why I shut down fully for several years and didn’t work as a therapist. You don’t work with people when your head isn’t all present. Sometimes it’s a day, and at other times it is longer.

My shutdown experience may be similar to others, or it may differ greatly.

First off, there are no rules in grief; there is only what you need to feel, and the rest can be set aside until you need to revisit the feelings. This kind of death and loss sends you to places that no one should have to go to, and yet, in order to get through it, you must go there. You must be willing to face a rawness in your life and come out on the other side of the tunnel that carries you underground. You will cross Styx and come out on a new shore, and just when you think you are safe from it all, you will wake up to a new realization: trauma. You didn’t see this coming because, unlike your typical death and grief, there aren’t liminal spaces in this type of death. Unlike the death bubble that hosts the liminal space, you can’t hop back on the conveyor belt of life and treat life as if there haven’t been radical changes. This time, someone in your life decided that they were going to exit, and they succeeded. In 2016 I became one of the people that entered into this place due to the loss of a loved one. And so, like with other forms of traumatic and unexpected death, those of us who encounter this hard place must settle in for a long and not-so-cozy journey. This is about navigating the river of life and being willing to explore new environs. The good thing about this is that each time you explore the new places in your soul, you get new skills and a sleeker boat that you can navigate with. It is true that no matter where the water is, there will be rapids, and learning to run them is rewarding. Yes, it is painful, and grief is not for wimps. But it is worth it!

It has been said that death rearranges the address book. In suicide, death alienates the address book. It is not just about people not knowing what to say: it is that the unthinkable happened, and now a hard reality besets the survivor(s). For me, I was well aware that my husband could end it all. What I was not aware of was how different this type of death experience is. The shocker was that I didn’t see it coming until after it had happened, and before I found the note on the dining table. By the time I found the note, I had a feeling he was going to do it—he ended it all before I could find him to stop him. He made sure of that.  

The next hours and days were a blur, and it has taken some two years of therapy to reconstruct this trauma. It hasn’t been easy or pretty. It took me admitting that I was dealing with PTSD, and being able to let go and trust the competent therapist I found to do what he does so well. It has been worth the painful periods I’ve had to face.

And so, I shut down to pretty dresses and dots. The dots faded away in my mind, and I forgot about the happiness that wearing dots brings to my heart. A wall of the mind took its place as if the real Gail wasn’t ever there, and this person who was there wasn’t the fully complete Gail. For ten years she has slept. Now, I am awake, and I’ve arisen from a slumber that I didn’t know how to deal with. I have dealt with a death by suicide and will continue to be aware of how his death has affected me.  

All things said, this type of grief journey is a cycle. Sometimes the thing needs to be said in ten million different ways, until the one time we really hear it, surprise! It is like we experience it as a fresh and new discovery. Whatever past grief collective there is, they are laughing at us for the millionth time as we “discover” again what hasn’t stuck. Maybe, they all say, she’ll get it this time. Grief is like spiral dynamics. We discover and loop through it on a new level.

Grief can shut the mind down. It can shut the soul down. What some experience doesn’t have words, and it is as if there is an unspoken code that says that yes, I’ve travelled the path, and yes, we’re in a strange group of people. Only we know this because you can’t always put words to the experience. Sometimes the words do make it out, and when they do, you say them.

Coming out of where I’ve been will be my story alone. I claim the trauma, and I claim the healing. Yes, I was one of 817,000. We haven’t all been down the same grief path.  

Feb 26

From Survival Clothes to Comfy Coats

In the US it’s a zipper; the UK calls it a zip; and here in the Netherlands it is called a ritz. Well, the thing broke on my warm coat that I have worn for over ten years. I was told that I could replace the zipper, zip, or ritz, and the warm, dark-blue coat could continue on for many years. I got to thinking that maybe it was time for a new color. The hunt began, and I found something pretty that will last at least ten years. This time I’ll be in lavender.

The old winter jacket had a double zipper. I loved it, and it also could snap in! I must have put the zipper into the coat incorrectly because it got stuck in a royal way. I’ll have the new lavender version in two weeks. It has to come from the US.

This has made me think about things.

I’m one of those people who loves her clothes, and I’ll wear them forever. The last round of purchases I’ve come to think of as survival clothes. I purchased the stuff after Jon’s death. Now, as 2026 rolls into full bloom, I’m finding that I need to say goodbye to the old and welcome the new. It’s kind of like the fluffy towels; I just took a wee bit longer to arrive at this point. This is going to cost me somewhat more than the towels. I’m still liking my towels, so, it is all good.

This time I’m not caring for Jon. This time I’m not in survival mode, and this time I can take my time thinking it through. I realize that I’ll need to write a new “Please Do” post. There are things on the “do” list that I didn’t know then, and that I can now talk about because, as time passes, new things that we might not view as essential come to the forefront.

As I’ve worked through the trauma of Jon’s death and developed a crush on the iceberg, I’ve learned a new form of self-care. I don’t know if it is the grief or the trauma that we can encounter that causes us to not care for ourselves in healthy ways. I think it may be both, and I also believe that it depends on the person. Whatever it is, look out for yourself!

What Version of Death Are You Living With?

There are all kinds of ways to die. As loved ones and family and friends, the versions are many.

My grandmother died in her bed as she drifted off for an afternoon nap. My father slipped away quietly in a hospital bed. His body shut down fighting stomach cancer. He woke up for a minute and my mother told him that it was the thirteenth, and he got on with the business of dying. My mother died quietly in a hospital room, after a heart attack. For the most part, all three of the deaths were peaceful instead of traumatic. The deaths filled with trauma took longer to process, and different types of emotions surfaced, depending on the person and how they died.

I’ve said it here and will continue to say it: THERE IS NOT AN INCORRECT WAY TO GRIEVE, as long as you grieve when you are able to grieve. A decade out of losing Jon, I’ve discovered so much. There is now only moving forward. What a journey! This post is a delightful thing to write because I’ve done some deep soul work. The fact is that when I started out on this path, I was on a road that I had never walked before. Yes, I’d done family and friends’ deaths, but this one has been completely different. My sister died violently as the cancer ate away at her body. My brother slipped away, with Covid being one of the things that caused his death. All things considered, my mother died a peaceful death after her heart attack. Somehow, it was my mother’s death that hit me the hardest. It hadn’t been six months since Jon’s leaving, and I didn’t fly to her funeral. I let my family talk me out of the flight. I should have flown over for it.

I believe that being at a service for those you love helps the process along. Funerals are for the living, not the dead.

This new fluffy coat is going to rock my world. So is all the healing from trauma, and what it brings. It is a new season and time in my life. I’ve done well finding my way on this journey. I should be proud of all of this. I’m happy with where I’m headed and give credit where credit is due. Nah, it’s the fluffy lavender jacket.

Feb 19

Exiting the Box (Revisit)

This post was originally published on March 18, 2024.

I was raised in a high-demand religion that placed me in a box. When you’re young, you only sense that something is off, and it was my nature to knock down barriers. Boxes are barriers, and so it began at a young age, the push–pull of trying to walk the line, yet break free of the box. The breaking out was needful, and the process almost broke me.

Breaking free is a process that takes time, knowledge, exploration, and courage. How many of us realize that we each live in a box? Our boxes are made up of different restrictions, in or out of high-demand religions and other groups. It takes strength to knock walls down. It takes strength to call it out when others remain silent. I discovered that it was lonely being the only one in the room who understood that I was trapped. It was lonely not being able to put the pieces together at a young age. It took so much time to fully connect the dots.

I’ve been knocking walls down since my adolescence. I must admit that I wouldn’t know how to live a life without breaking personal barriers, and if it helps others I’ll bring them along. I’ve spoken about this in the sledgehammer piece I wrote. I think over what I’ve done, and I want to share more. How did I find the courage to move to a new place in life?

When I look back at all of this, I’m caught up in the WOW of it all, and I think back to how I navigated the choppy parts of the river. Who was in my boat? People who were living outside of the box I’d been in. At first I didn’t understand this. The further I moved away from what had been, the more I understood out-of-the-box thinking in real time. Being in the box won’t free you to do the thinking you must do outside of the box. First you must get out!

The people outside the box enabled me to leave the bench I was sitting on and move forward. I’ll admit that this process has been both velvet in its feel and scary as I’ve crossed into the underworld and new territory.

Leaving the box causes others in the box to not understand why you would choose to leave the secure space. In my boxed situation, I was told not to “leave the boat,” and I was asked where I would go if I left the boat. I jumped into the water and into the waiting dinghy that was there for me. As I rowed into new, warmer waters, I discovered that there was new growth and so many new places to explore! What an expansive universe I lived in!

I found myself discovering so many new things! The current was swift, and as I stretched myself to learn and to ask new questions, I grew in ways that I never thought I could. Over fifty years spent in a box, and while I mourned, I also moved on. I must also admit that Jon’s suicide was a catalyst for personal growth. How could it not be a process of moving me forward? I wasn’t willing to roll over and play dead.

I discovered that it was time to put the sledgehammer away, and to discover more peaceful means of breaking down walls and moving forward. I was truly sad about stowing the sledge, as it had been a lifelong companion. I was comfortable with it, and I understood the sledge’s use, and there were better ways of creating change.

My soul work moved me forward. I now find myself in a place of peace and contentment, and it’s weird because I never imagined myself in this place. In the box, this was not possible. Outside of the box, it is doable. I think the difference is that I’ve discovered more of who* I am, what the world is all about, and that I’m finding lots of wonderful new ways of looking at everything I encounter.

While my exit from the box was velvet in its nature, it did cause me great pain. There are people who have turned their backs on me, and they’ve walked away. There are others who won’t talk about the hard things. You know—the things that really need to be said. In the box, people can’t go to these places. How I long for people I have known to go to the harder places! The price we pay for breaking ourselves out of the box is the loss of people we thought were friends. So, we must grieve again.

I’ve found that the the grief process here is no different from other grief, and that the “please do” that must be a part of our process in the exit is a major must. This is a lonely process, and it is often one that is done alone because our new village might not understand what we need in our lives.

The box I was in taught me some good things. It taught me to give to others, and to do it when it might not always be convenient. It taught me to listen to myself, and that enabled me to “jump ship” and get out of there. Who I was, and who I am, was not to be found in the tiny box.

I move on, forward, into the unknown, which is exciting, wonderful, and scary. It never ends, this discovery business. I wonder what I’ll learn around the next bend?

Feb 12

Goodbye, Again

I don’t say goodbye well. It isn’t that I can’t; it’s that I will always remember. I’ll remember the place and the clothes I was wearing. I’ll remember the time of day. Now, it seems that 2026 is a year to let go of the old and welcome the new. It is a bittersweet time of my life.

And so it is with grief. We move forward into new discoveries. What I once struggled to part with is now back in a decade of dust just like the dust that a car makes on an unpaved road.

Last night I said a difficult goodbye to a leadership position that I’ve held for eight years. I’m saying goodbye because I’m moving forward. I’m headed into an unknown, and hopefully good, place where I’ll serve others in new ways. Goodbye was hard, and after I said the words and left the meeting, I sat on my wonderful bed, and I let the tears come. It seems as if clearing the battlement, and realizing that I don’t need to engage the iceberg as I once did, enabled the tears I once might have not shed to come freely.  

It seems to me that, like the seasons, I’ve moved in time and understanding. I now have the option of questioning what I’m ready for as I move along my new path of life.

As I think back on the winter of grief, tears form, and I recall the pain of wondering if the tears and the heartache would ever end. I listened to the voices of others who said that, yes, the tears would change, and the quality of the tears would be different. Then I became one of those voices. The day came when I noticed that the tears had faded into the past. “Goodbye, I love you” could be said in a different way. That was the season of autumn, with its rich colors and flavors. It was a time of acceptance and quiet movement. Autumn speaks to my heart in many ways, and this season of grief has spoken well, and I suppose that I’ll visit this season in new ways and different times of my life.

I’m entering into a new spring! I’ve been here before. This time around it isn’t the budding of new hope: it’s the beauty and surprise of the unknown that will welcome in a place of exploration and gently move me into a summer of exploration and new life. I’ll gladly engage with this new journey! Summers are all about the work of the journey. Once again, I’ve crossed Styx. I stand on this expectant shore ready to welcome the spring and summer that will unfold for me.

I realize that the seasons of grief are not organized with one following the other. These seasons take us to where we need them to carry us, and the work that we do on our grief journey determines the season we arrive in. There are multiple seasons! 

I light my scented candle that brings the scent of water into the room. I realize I’m being called to a place along the shoreline where the river pilot waits for me. He ushers me on board the sleekest of sleek boats. Run the water with this! Whoa! I know my friend the pilot and I will navigate new waters with a new confidence. I’m sure I’ll put to shore in different seasons and head inland to explore. The pilot asks me if I remember that first running of the water. I do, and I was so scared. That old boat is somewhere off in a past that has faded into so many new discoveries. I believe the best one is that ten years ago I didn’t know I could do what I’ve done.

As I cast off into the water, I’m finding out how to welcome the new. A few years ago, I said a goodbye at Bracelet Bay in Wales. I spread ashes and cried, and a friend said a prayer. Jon’s ashes spoke to me of the place where I needed to spread them. The fine dust of life went into the water that September day. Wales has been a part of this grief process, and soon I’ll be within view of it in March as I take on a new task in my life.

I haven’t been too anxious to move things along at a rapid pace. I’ve needed to learn what the river holds, and I’ve needed to allow the gentle process of healing to glide me along the path that it holds for me.

Grief is about tears, mourning our losses, and accepting new futures. Grief is about learning to say goodbye in a thankful manner for what the journey has taught us. Grief is leaning to welcome what is new graciously.

Feb 5

Becoming a Peaceful Soul

Dear Reader,

Last week, while sitting here in my office space working, I heard a noise from above. This noise is distinct: a dull sound resonating in the air that gets louder and stronger. It is the sound of planes flying overhead. One group, and then another followed. It’s a scary noise. Where are they headed? Most likely into harm’s way. May those pilots be kept safe. I don’t know how most of the pilots are kept safe. Sooner or later, that could easily end.

A congregant who lives in Ukraine and attends church online told us she was safe. She sounds calm, but you can’t really be fully calm in that situation. I can’t imagine her daily life as she pursues medical studies. Planes fly there too. The darkness and cold she must live with are of concern to all of us who know her. All we can do is hold out hope that she’ll survive it all. Outside my office I hear a plane passing over. Is it a peaceful flight? I hope so.

I turn on the news to see things in the US. It isn’t safe or good at all.

How do I help others to cope with the terror they are facing when they are a person of color? I check in with my clients weekly.

The real horror is that I understand that history is repeating itself. This time in a country that has never fully understood what they have had by way of safety and peace. It is now fading. All I can say is brown shirts. I think it, and I shudder. All I can think about is that piece I read about the person who was left alone when they came for him, and not one person was left to stand for him. No, not one. Are we willing to show up for those who need us?

I hold out hope that the protesters will be heard, and that they will be successful. At the same time, I pray for their safety. Protesting is dangerous work. Peaceful protesting is a skill that many are learning rapidly. I know those who are showing up, and I know that they show courage in showing up.

When things went wrong in Paris a few years ago, someone in the neighborhood lit up a peace sign. I thought that it was a nice gesture of solidarity. Would it do much? No, just that gesture of support. Now I look back on that, and I think that it was a bright beacon of support for Paris. Maybe someone saw it and took time to think about what happened in the city of lights.

What will our international gesture of understanding be for those who are having their peace stolen from them? What will the legacy of those who have been killed be? I don’t know, and so I’ll put this up, tag it, and continue to raise my voice in the only way I can. I’ll do what I can as a therapist and spiritual director. I’ll continue to ask myself and others: “Is it well with your soul?” and to nurture that safety from within. Maybe that is my role in this. I know I must sing—if only in my own home. We must overcome. I think of the verse that is in “We Shall Overcome” and understand that only truth will make us free. Joan Baez and others have rung out in quiet protest. The words sung are truth.

As I look back over my own personal work during the past three years, I think about how I was led and was able to find the right people to become a part of my life: friends and others who were willing to risk involvement as I discharged trauma. While what I did was gutsy, what the world has to do now is even more gutsy. Do we as world citizens have the courage to make peace with ourselves inside our own souls and move it out to our families, the neighborhoods, and then beyond? 

During the past few months, I’ve become a more peaceful soul, and I believe it has to do with the healing that I’ve done. It is deep soul work. I could not have foreseen this in my life. I’ll take it, and so much more.

I’ll leave this thought with you:

Breathe out the tension of hate and violence.

Breathe in the fullness that you are enough.

Breathe out what you cannot control.

Breathe in the courage to claim what you can do yourself.

Remember that it is in community that our strength is strongest.

If you need to find a professional, don’t hesitate to do so. This type of stress can be managed.

In peace and hope,

Gail

Jan 29

Is it Well with Your Soul?

My younger brother called over the weekend. We always reminisce about what was once normal. So, today I’m in a reflective place.

I grew up in a very formal German family. That was the culture of my father’s family. I called my grandparents Grandma and Grandpa, and my aunts and uncles were “Aunt or Uncle so-and-so.” It was a matter of respect for our elders. We deferred to their seniority and never used their first name. That was a no-no! So, my brother and I wondered what has happened!

I’m wondering why the boundaries are slipping away in families, and why there is a lack of respect?

This got me thinking about how, despite the fact that more people know about boundary issues, the boundaries in family life have become more disturbed or relaxed. I’m taken back to the fact that many people no longer understand how to form healthy relationships.

We now have options. We can distance ourselves from family members, and we can claim that we’re too busy to connect. We can block those we can’t bother to connect with or completely remove them out of our lives. We no longer need to work out issues.

Now, pulling away from family isn’t new: the way, and the reasons we do it, may be far more creative now. In my family history, my own great-uncle on my father’s side pulled away. I never got to know him. We lost out.

The question becomes one of making the right call, and when ties should be severed.

Now I mention my mother. My mother’s upbringing honored her English and Welsh heritage. She wanted peace in the home.

I grew up in a family where my brother and my brother-in-law butted heads, and their arguments became very unpleasant for the rest of us. One was ultra-conservative and didn’t read both sides of the issue. The other got angry too fast. To be honest, our move to Europe solved the issue for us as a couple. Other family members withdrew from family activities.  

In sorting all of this out, I’m realizing that my upbringing failed to teach me how to deal with volatile family situations. My mother was a peacemaker. She wasn’t dysfunctional about it. She and my father were more on the neutral end of things. The problem is that when I look back, I’m not sure that our home was as peaceful as it looked from the outside. I’ve learned a few things about peace in the past few years. I attribute this learning to my own grief process, and the outcome of doing deep soul work.

The most important thing I’ve learned is that peace starts within each of us. Once we have made peace inside, we can slowly move into our homes, neighborhoods, and the wider community to build structures of peace. From that point it can radiate out further like a ripple on the water.

What does it take to first go inside, and then move outside of ourselves? I believe that if we can’t be completely honest with ourselves, we can’t be honest in other areas of our lives. We must first commit to the inner war of the soul. Some people call this shadow work. For others it is holy work. Whatever your own term for this is, it is brutal work that must be met with brutal honesty. It takes more than asking for peace, wanting peace, or hoping for peace. Peace within asks us to confront ourselves on multiple levels. How are we doing on respecting others, understanding racism, and understanding what it means to be a world citizen? How do we see poverty or domestic violence? How do we view the world we live in? A friend of mine has asked me: “Is it well with your soul?” As I reflect on this question, I believe the answer has to be that my soul is a journey in progress.

There are areas where I catch myself in thought and make notes to work on it. It starts inside.

I’m learning that peace is a complex issue. I’m understanding that my mother might have made more peace inside, but she wasn’t able to fully create this peace outside of herself. And so, undesired conversations happened in our home. The results from these conversations were understood to be destructive, and my mother could not quell the word wars at family gatherings because shutting down feelings and emotions is a form of disrespect to others. Could she have laid down the law? Yes. Would that have served peaceful purposes? Maybe. But not for my brother and brother-in-law. I don’t remember the conversations anymore. I do remember the tense, ugly feelings and emotions that played out in the room. Maybe that’s what makes world peace so hard.

Jan 22

The Fifth Season of Grief

Friday the thirteenth, 2017, I get a phone call from my sister, who tells me my mother is gone. Gone. Dead. Died, and went to heaven. Soon to be pushing up daisies. I’m numb. It’s been less than six months since Jon did the deed. I flash back to that Monday, and our phone conversation. It was the only time I had told my two siblings that something was really wrong, and to go and get my mother (who from this point on will be called Momz—Mom-zee) to the doc. True to form they ignored me. They blew it off. She lived in pain all that week.

I just knew. I always know. It is part of my Enneagram Eight makeup.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of the color green. Green was my mother’s favorite color. After doing lots of reading, I’m starting to believe I’m getting a clear message from her: I’m here. Nine years out and I’m finally thinking of her. Mourning the dead happens when we can take in the information and sit with it. She’d be in her nineties now. Had she not had the heart attack on that Monday when I’d called for our normal chat, would she have lived longer?

I didn’t go to the service. Everyone said don’t come. I was still too shocked from Jon’s suicide to think it through. The heavens opened somehow, and my momz was placed into a blue casket. Had I been present, I’d have insisted on that color. Blue, lovely blue with colorful flowers. That thought took me back to my father’s death. My mother says we’ll do yellow and white flowers because those are the colors he could see with his colour blindness. I pipe up: “No! If he can really look down from heaven, he can now see all the colors.” And so, the momz did it right! And I got my two cents in over the color because, somehow, someone spoke for me.

I sit here with the blue sky, and the sun actually shining as I write this, and I think of my clients and the different types of grief they need to work through. I tell them that there isn’t a correct way to grieve. I tell them that the day my younger sister Joyce died, some of us went for pizza. The place where she died, Paradise, California—the actual spot—burned down. (See The Lost Bus on Apple TV.) That grief just hurt because I thought I’d get back there again and see that 76 gas station. I’d go up there and drive by, knowing that here was where she dropped dead in a phone booth. (It was the ’70s)

Grief is like a carefully built chain reaction of falling dominos. It creates designs that we may not expect. When we’re inside the process, we can’t see the creation or realize that, in sadness, something beautiful might spring up. We don’t see it because grief is not for wimps. The work of sifting through relationships might involve a purge involving an iceberg and a trip to your own battlement. This I learned somewhere in year three but couldn’t do it until much later in the process. If we explore our relationships effectively, they must be cleaned with powerful disinfectant. An honest look brings out the dirt of the process, and you shouldn’t go forward with a new relationship until you’ve worked through the past relationship. BUT, you say in protest there is nothing to look at, and I’m lonely and want someone new.

Here is why you clean out the old relationship: unfinished business. We all have it. The thing about looking at relationships after death that stops many from doing it is the old saying of not speaking ill of the dead. The problem with this is that in order to move forward in a healthy manner, the entire relationship needs to be sorted out.

I remember all those years ago, sitting here at my desk, looking out the window, and noticing the house across the way. The thought of holding my marriage up to the magnifying glass was a hard one, and yet, I knew that there were things I needed to address. Was I willing to do it? I had to look. And so it is with my older sister, my older brother, and my parents. We must mourn the good and the bad, because if we fail to look at it all, we cheat ourselves out of part of the process—just like the blue sky going overcast, and the sun disappearing behind the cloud cover. We must look and face our reality.

I now look at it all because, like the seasons of grief, I must encounter a new season that I’ve never thought of as a season: resolution. It is the calm after the storm. It is the time of life where we can open up our souls to the new journey of peaceful minds and hearts. The work of relationship cleansing has taken several years. Now the fallen dominos are displayed in a colorful new manner. My happy iceberg smiles at me, the castle battlement stands emptied, and I turn to face a sky that looked much like the day Jon took his own life. And I think to myself: I can deal with this sky.

Jan 15

Singing With One Voice

Lately I’ve turned on the news to see more evil than good in the world. It sucks us all into a place of despair.

Grief and pain are not easy to witness, and to be honest, they cause us to question the why of it all. And so, this last week’s therapy sessions were filled with checking in with clients about how they were being affected by the needless violence occurring in the USA. How can we not cry? How can we not feel the sorrow deep in our souls?

A minister friend of mine announced on Facebook that she would hold a service so that people could gather in community on Saturday. If I were in the US, I would attend so that I could offer support to those in need. I’m here, and a good seven hours ahead, so I’ll be sleeping. I think I’ll pass on words of support anyway.

I can’t turn away from this sadness.

What do you do when the sadness becomes so intense, and the violence becomes something that we can’t ignore?

I used to swing a sledgehammer when I was younger: I put it down in exchange for a better way of resolving issues. That way is peaceful thought.

The older I get, the less I want to be reactive, and the more I’ve healed from the action on the battlement, the more my world view changes. It isn’t that I don’t want to see change: it is that I realize that I’ve screamed at enough people to know that screaming won’t fix it, and some people can’t stand conflict.

Conflict is a reality of life. Conflict pushes us into harsh realizations that change must happen in order for us to move forward. Conflict asks us to become honest with ourselves, and others. Honesty moves us forward to new understandings. Once we know a better way, we are required to follow where it leads us. To not follow it is as if we fail ourselves.

When I put the sledgie down, I didn’t turn away from the part of me that wanted to see change. I discovered that I could do things in a gentler manner. It hasn’t been easy, and I’ve messed things up more than once. Peace isn’t easy. Peace is one of the hardest things we work for, and as mentioned above: peace is not the absence of conflict. If we do it right, the hard conversations bring change and growth for everyone.

Here I sit, getting this out so that it will get posted. What’s to be done with disagreement? Ultimately, we all need to end the rhetoric, put down our words of criticism, and find the words of strength and agreement in each other.

We’ve all suffered the damage caused by the unrest in this world. We’ve all suffered the pain of loss in some form. Isn’t it time we each put down our sledgehammers, open out ears, and listen more than we speak?

I’m not wanting to recite the violence in the world that is happening right now.

I’m wanting to recognize that peace begins in our own homes and neighbourhoods. It spreads from there. Put down your sledgehammer and stop the violence with words and acts of understanding. The politicians and warriors might not get this, but you and I can! Let there be peace on this earth, and let it begin with an act of listening. This song says it well.

Let’s sing with one voice.

Jan 1

If it’s January, it Must Be Resolution Time (Revisit)

This post was originally published on January 2, 2023.

It is January first, and I’m getting a jump on my Monday. I’m doing it because my January third is going to be slightly cluttered with an eye appointment. Here it goes!

I was logged into Facebook to check on pages I manage and spotted people I know posting their New Year’s resolutions. It got me thinking about change, and why this stuff seldom works the way people envision resolutions working.

The first thing is, why wait for the new year? If it really needs to be done, do it now—don’t put the thing off. 

My next observation—or question—would be, Why do diets begin on Mondays? Shouldn’t they start in the mind, on the next shopping trip, or in an online order?  

My third musing would be that people make resolutions but seldom lay the groundwork to establish successful life change. How do we each lay that groundwork? What does it take to do the work that will establish change in our lives?

It begins in stages: the first stage is to come to an understanding of what the real issue is. I’ll use a diet for the example, though most any example could work. I’ll use my own diet journey.

Often a person wakes up to their personal reality, sees themselves in the mirror, and shudders at the sight that is reflected back to them. The realization of the pounds that are now present isn’t a happy one. You might have a range of clothing sizes, and some of those sizes might never be worn again. You hold on to all of the sizes in hope that “someday” you will fit into those jeans you wore fifteen years ago. I didn’t have that issue because moving to Europe is all about weight, and getting it on the boat. I had to give clothes I was wearing, and not wearing, to someone who could use them right then. I’m glad that the choice was made for me.

In 2006 I realized that I felt awful, and I didn’t like my reflection in the mirror. I felt ugly, frumpy, and unattractive. We purchased a treadmill so that I could walk inside, and I hoped that walking would help me take the weight off. Four years later my “goal” had not been achieved, and I was miserable. In 2011, after years of back pain that began in adolescence, I made the decision to have a breast reduction. That was a good choice on my part. Talking to my husband about the decision I was making was a process. He had the concern of things not turning out right. They did. The reduction enabled me to walk easily, and to feel better while doing chores. The “bench,” as I thought of it, was gone. Wow, was that a game changer! I also began to win at taking the weight off. Having a couple of kilos gone in one day gave me hope! Maybe I could do this thing.

All the tears I cried, the times when Jon had to hear me grapple with the issue that it was taking so long to drop the weight, now seem like an eternity of days gone by. That was one kind of looking and digging to get to the root cause of my food issues.

There is something to be said for feeling good, and feeling like you are winning at something you want. After a decade, I was wearing smaller sizes; I was winning the battle, or so I thought. I was doing the outer work. What about the inner work? 

My health insurance covered a dietitian, and she was helpful. It took a conversation about doctors being vigilant about the Body Mass Index (BMI) to turn the entire weight loss process around for me. Wowzah, had I fallen into a nasty trap!

I thought I’d done all the inner work as I began to understand that in my genetic heritage of deities, a love of sweets from two grandfathers and my mother had caused me to deal with sugar like alcoholics deal with a drink: one is never enough. This sent me spiraling into a new level of self-discovery. It was unbearably painful. I engaged in a dance, and while the weight was coming off, my eating and I were doing a wild rumba. All the years that I’d focused on BMI had held me back from focusing on feeling good. I had to contemplate how I might have bought into the diet myth, and the body image of fitting back into a size 6–8. Intellectually, I understood that there were things I needed to do. In 2021 I crossed into a new zone: the I’m-happy-with-who-I-am-and-what-I-see-in-the-mirror zone. It was a massively delightful discovery. It also lifted a huge burden of non-reality off of me. Now it was about management.

I recall the day clearly. I was sitting on a stool, getting dressed and taking a look at myself. No, my stomach wasn’t model flat. I would never have that EVER again. My arms were OK, not perfect but good enough, and my calves, they were still wonderful. Throughout my life my calves were the one body part that always looked great. I took time to reflect on this wonderful factoid. My thighs really were OK, and my face had thinned out. I realized in that moment I would never see a size 6 or 8 again. 

Then I began to think about how I really felt inside. I felt good, and as I realized this fact, I began to look deeper. Why was I stuck in the weight loss mode? I came to understand that I didn’t need to go there. A size 10–12 was perfectly fine. At my age it also felt like I could maintain that size.

Healthy isn’t about the perfect body. Ultimately it is about feeling good at where we are. It becomes a process of cutting ourselves some slack, offering ourselves the same grace and generosity we tell others to treat themselves with. In all the inner work I spent time doing over the years, I realized that I, too, had cut myself some slack and offered up a huge healthy serving of grace and generosity to myself. In 2022 I sat on the stool, looked at myself, and smiled. Yeah, I’m good with her!  

Resolutions are fulfilled when we lay a foundation of inner work, dig deep, and discover the generous helping of self-love we are serving ourselves. We make peace with the demon within. We grant ourselves the insight that the real work takes time and is about honoring ourselves over what we think we want. The question we must ask at the beginning of any goal or resolution journey is, What do I really need, and why?

It took me from 2006, a lot of treadmill and conversation time working with a professional, and a real hard look in the mirror to come to understand that what I wanted (getting back to a 6–8 size) was not what I needed. What I needed to do was to like—and love—the reflection of the 10–12 sized woman who sat on the stool. It doesn’t matter the size or the kilos/pounds that I carried. I started this journey thinking size and BMI. What matters most is that I got healthy. What matters most is that I’m enjoying where I am and can manage life where I’m at without my body doing the yo-yo cycle.

2023 is starting off with some real peace of mind. I’m good with this.

Dec 25

The Gift of the Season (Revisit)

This post was originally published on December 19, 2023.

2023, and I’m thinking about the lyrics to “Proud Mary,” and how times have changed. What I’m thinking about is the holidays, of giving, receiving, and how those who have little often give of what they have, and that the giving comes from the heart. It is a different way of giving than that of those of us who have shelter, food, and safety.

I have a cousin who lived in an abusive home. Her daughter left as a teen and lived on the streets. For her, it was a choice to leave and not have a father sexually assaulting her. I heard about this during my grad-school years and wondered why she would risk living on the streets rather than trying to become an emancipated minor. People on the streets were forming “families” of sorts and attempting to help each other survive. It seemed harsh to me. It still seems harsh as I think of it now. The realities of an economy that doesn’t work for everyone, the state of the world, and the attitudes of many people are all subjects for another post.

This week, as the Christian day of Christmas comes closer, I am focused in thought about what many Christians believe, and what many world religions do. They give. I must admit that I do have a healthy dose of holy envy at times. My client base is diverse, and I’m in a position to learn from so many good people who find their way to me. 

This is about each of us doing it well, and going into our hearts and souls. It is about finding the inner spark that drives us to find out how, and why, we’re motivated to share and to give to others. 

Lately, I’ve become aware of how many people fail to give because they believe that the only giving that matters is related to monetary giving. True giving comes from what we have within ourselves.

The catch for some people is that they feel empty inside. If I am nothing to myself, how can I give something to others? Some who have little give abundantly in love, nurturing of others, and sharing of their meager meals. When all you have is a cardboard roof over your head, and you live in a third-world nation, you may find motivation in different ways. Personally, I think consumerism is killing the human soul of those who live in Western nations.

At this time of year, in the cold of day and the longer nights, what is needed is the spirit of hope. How do we give hope when these days hope seems to be at a minimum?

I’m not a “Pollyanna” in any way. What I’m seeing in others, and within myself, is a realism that is needed to focus on the things that can enable the soul to free itself, and to learn to have more love: love for ourselves, love for each other, and love for our burdened planet. 

My work with the Enneagram has taught me so much about becoming a better self. This past year has taken me to some deep soul work, and in doing the work, I’ve experienced highs and lows. The insight therapy that I do with my clients and the spiritual direction that my directees choose to engage in move the soul to places of compassion for the self, and into areas where giving to others becomes more of a natural choice. When we fill our souls with healthier ways of thinking, living it brings peace and an inner joy to ourselves.

I know what some of you are thinking. Before you shut this down or go off on a rant about how this author is clueless and is spouting crap, please, hear me out! 

I’ve been there, I’ve done the angry-at-the-author thing, and I’ve learned that there are realistic avenues to making peace with the self.

I’m not promoting religion or even God. What I’m promoting here is deep inner work that moves each of us to challenge, and to question, who we each are, and why we feel the way we do about ourselves deep down where the soup is made. This is when we go into the places that force us to rethink, restructure, and renew. These are the thin or liminal places. These are the places where people with depression, anxiety disorders, ADHD, and so many other mental issues dwell. These are the deep places of dark questions. If we find a good therapist, spiritual director, or other support, we can work through all of it and come out on a new shore. It is as I described in Styx. Pollyanna types don’t venture into these dark places. Maybe that is why I’m turned off by the book and film. I wanted to slap her silly. Excessive positivity is damaging to the psyche.

Soul work, and exploring our shadow side, is a gamble that pays off in large dividends. I suppose I will continue to go deeper as I do the self-work that contributes to moving forward.

When I think about creating peace within the self, and peace in the world which enables us to give to each other, I realize that it is a complex issue. I understand that what matters most is that we take the first step, uncap our heads, and do a deep inner dive to discover the good, the bad, and the ugly truth about ourselves so that we can present a better self to ourselves and to those around us.

The gift of the season is deep inner work.

Dec 18

Bored Through and Not Around the Mountain

Years ago I wrote a post titled “Please Do.” I’ll have to title this one differently. I realized while writing another post that I have things to say in a short but new way. So, here they are.

Please take your time caring for yourself in the grief process. Don’t rush the process because it will mess with your mind.

Please understand that while this is hard, and I’ve said before that grief done well isn’t for wimps, it will go as needed.

Please understand that you will never get over this person: you will get through the process. Please hold on to that thought.

Please understand that while your contacts list may change, the people who need to be in your life will remain, and new people will show up for you in ways that are helpful.

Please, if at all possible, don’t make any major life decisions for one year. Death is traumatic. Give your brain time to sort itself out.

Please allow yourself time to miss your loved one, and take your time entering into new relationships. There’s a good reason for this. After their death, you have a freedom that you didn’t have while this person was alive. You now can fully and completely autopsy the relationship. A good look postmortem will give you insights into the relationship as nothing else will, and you may decide that there are things that you don’t want in your next relationship. You can’t decide this if you’re too busy finding someone else.

In the almost ten years since Jon’s death, I’ve seen more than one person I know rush into something, and then crash and divorce. Too late, a second relationship goes bust. This is also true of divorce.

Please honor your own needs. No matchmaking do-gooders allowed! The last thing you need is that kind of mess.

Please accept help in the beginning of the process. You’ll be glad you did as long as people also give you the space to test what you can, and can’t, handle. In the beginning it is easy to become overwhelmed. There can be a tendency for high levels of dysfunction to set in. The living space can go; your sleep is all messed up; your diet becomes a non-diet. Say yes to meals, and let people know what you can’t eat. Also, eat with others. Eating with others will keep you honest.

Please get professional help if you need to. Find a competent therapist who knows more than what one can read in a book when it comes to grief.

Please remember that there is no right or wrong way to do this process. The day after Jon ended his life, I would have told you that everything I thought I knew about grief was being tossed out. I got a new playbook. While there are some common threads, each process is individual.

Please understand that the crazy tears of the passing will fade in time; slowly, the quality of the tears will fade. As time moves forward, honor the tears that do come.

Understand that bringing someone new into your life will not wipe out the love that you held for your deceased partner.

While time can take the edge off the pain that a loss leaves us with, it is living honestly and facing the reality head-on that enables us to do the real work of grief. This blog is filled with posts about my process and what I’ve learned from going through it, and not around it. I think that the greatest life lesson I learned from going through the suicide and its aftermath is that as painful as it’s been, I’ve learned things I needed to know. I suppose that in many ways, and after ten years, I really do see gifts on my end. I get how strange this might sound. There are things I miss. Our conversations were incredible, and I’ll never have that with anyone else in just the same way. On the other hand, the violence of bipolar will not be missed. His death enabled me to discover who I am in new and powerful ways.

Given the fact that he is no longer suffering, and I’m a much different person than I was in 2016, I’ll keep things the way they are. I’ve bored through the mountain. Life is good on this side of things.

Dec 11

Meeting Ourselves in New Ways

The holidays were once a magical time of the year. Maybe growing up changes it all. I think about the Gloria Estefan song “Christmas Through Your Eyes” and I wonder.

Downstairs, I have the container where the tree is stored, and another box that contains the treasures for the tree. I’ve got everything out and will slowly set the tree up and string the lights.

Ah, stringing the lights! My mother and I got over 3K on our family tree one year. That tree was lit up like a masterpiece. It took us all morning, and the effect was spectacular! We didn’t repeat the act, as it involved twist ties! What a wonderful memory. We took pruning shears to the tree to dismantle the lights. Like I said, never again. Looking back on it, we must have taken an insane capsule.

Last night, as I stood in my living room, I longed for all the pretty bows that I had on my first Christmas tree. I was an adult living single in Oakland. Oh, how I long for those bows.

As I stood there, I realized that things have changed. The past three years have taken me on a soul journey. While it began well over two decades ago, it didn’t pick up speed until after Jon’s death. His suicide, and all that followed, have altered my life in ways that I could not have expected.

With the wisdom of age, I realize that I wasn’t ready for this as a younger adult. Change happens when the conditions are right. We need to be ready to explore ourselves in new ways, and we need to greet the exploration with eagerness for the new path forward.

I’ve softened as I’ve explored who I am. Looking at your shadow has its upside! The only downside is that if you’re not ready, the shadow work won’t take. I suppose that is what opened me up to looking at the demons. We all have them, and mine resided on the battlement for decades! This time the admiral on that boat out at sea knew it was time. My iceberg has really melted.

This year, the gift of Christmas is a deep inner healing. This year, I realize that I had to be fully ready to do the deep soul searching that would lead to real peace.

And so, I wondered last night if I should put it all away and leave Advent out. I’m keeping it all out, including the 500 lights that will get put up on the tree. I’ll have to do it alone. That won’t be fun. What an end to 2025.

In 2026 I’ll mark the tenth year since Jon’s death. I’m ok with this. It feels right to move forward in life. There are some not-so-good-things to rush into after a death, and I’ve taken my time not rushing into anything. To be honest, I like certain things about living single once again.

This is a post about a grief journey as much as a soul journey. Just as navigation of the river of life has amazed me, and I’ve had my WOW moments, I’ve also had seasons of recognition. Grief has seasons: so does life. I think I’m doing autumn now in a better way. Once again, this season is gifting me with a great redo!

Life is about meeting ourselves in new ways. Each time we pass through the hard stuff of change.

Haven’t I begun a post like this before? Another loop in time. Here I go again!

Dec 4

The Fuck Loop

Author’s note: I wanted to generate an image of a child being yelled at by an adult, and it seems that ChatGPT did not want to produce such an image, as it it abusive. Good for ChatGPT.

It was 2012, and I was sitting in the dining area of the Loo Erf. A woman in her twenties who was becoming a friend called me a bitch. I informed her that the term bitch was not something I viewed as anything but a slur. She didn’t get it, and I had to explain the old meaning to her. She still didn’t get it. Just as no man should be called a stud, no woman should be called a bitch. I want respect for all human beings.

What we say matters, and how we communicate matters even more. It will always matter because the expression of emotions and communicating what we really mean to others can either build a person up or rip into them and destroy their self-image.

I’ve been involved in conversations about the use of the words shit and fuck wherein the proponents of their use say that intelligent people swear. Maybe some people with high IQs swear; however, they aren’t the ones who have high IQs in other areas. It seems that society’s IQ is dropping rapidly.

One of my husband’s ex-girlfriend’s family used to say that hell and damn were emphasis words. I can go along with that; however, it is the use of fuck that I have the biggest issue with. I will admit that holy shit is comical, and shorthand for the moment in which one must catch their breath to process some amazing factoid or happening. But it is followed up with other words that are move descriptive.

Why do we use such words? Most people I see in therapy might start out using fuck as a shorthand to express what they can’t express in a healthy way. It takes some digging in the iceberg of the mind to get to the real words, and when we’re frustrated, we might not even be able to say that. Then what happens is “shit” or “fuck” get blurted out into the air. They hang there as if to say to the air, “There has to be more to this than I’m saying.” If we’re in an empty space, no one hears us. If there are people present, and it is directed at someone, damage is done. What if it is a child?

In a way, shit and fuck are the modern version of spanking a child for what we view as wrongdoing. We now understand that corporal punishment does not teach the person, adult or child, to change a behavior in a positive manner: it teaches someone to get better at not getting busted for the poor behavior, and it teaches fear. It creates feelings of worthlessness and low or no self-respect. The fallout from this is that people can develop low or no respect for others.

I remember the one time I got spanked. It was back in the 1960s, and I stuck my tongue out at my mother. I was heading out the door to school, and I was told that when I got home that day, I’d be getting a talking to. I don’t remember what my father said: I do remember that he laid his hands on me. It was only once, and I felt awful. It dug into my seven-year-old tender soul. It changed things. It was poor parenting. I got the lecture that evening, and I don’t remember what was said. What I remember is the spanking with his hand. Did it teach me anything? No. I suppressed my feelings because they weren’t going to be heard. When you aren’t able to get the words out as a child, what can you do? Slowly, you learn to hold it inside, and then you grow up, and yelling at the world is what you’ve learned.

Looking back on that incident as an adult, I was not even able to form the words “I’m angry at you mom!” If a parent can hear those words from a child, they can then move to help the child express and resolve the issue in a space of safety.

Without the words and the ability to work in a higher arena, you have a child who sets you off. And let’s say the child is two or three, and all of a sudden you are calling them a little fuck or a little shit. You are yelling at them. First off, no one likes being yelled at. We should never be hit by anyone. And here you are standing in your kitchen, or the grocery store, calling an innocent child a little fuck or shit. We condemn spanking, and if we saw it in public, we might want to report abuse to the proper agency. Why not with the words we use? They can be just as stifling to emotional growth.

What gives us the right to cross such a fragile boundary? There is not a good answer for this. We don’t have that right.

The right we do have is to haul ourselves into therapy and work through the damage that was done by those who created the mess in the first place. We have the right and the ability to do some deep soul work, and we have the ability to learn to find the real words. We can discharge trauma and come to understand that there are better ways to express what we feel. It is about digging into the iceberg below the anger to put real words to what is going on into use.

We also have the ability to apologize for words that damage.

What all of this feels like once we get a handle on ourselves is a calmer self. You might find yourself with a new kind of “keep calm” thought. Calm, and think about what is being felt, and why. Counting might stop the short-term knee-jerk response. Using our words on ourselves teaches us that we can solve problems by ourselves in effective ways! We then build up the positive stuff that reinforces that good feeling in our brains about our ability to do the harder things of living. Simply stated, the above stated happening becomes a learned skill, and all of this because we got words that work, and took ourselves out of the fuck loop.

Nov 27

Revisiting Our Hardwiring (Revisit)

This post was originally published on April 30, 2024.

Author’s note: I’m involved in a book project that is requiring me to submit one chapter on the idea of perfection. This is huge, and I’m going to write about some of what I’m musing about today.

Today’s meditation was one of exploration. I began by asking about why humans are hesitant to include those who are disabled. My path of thought led me to question many things.

Animals may kill a defective offspring. Maybe they smell it, see it, or somehow sense it, and then they kill. As humans, we judge our species based on different criteria. We struggle to accept humans who are diverse.

We run from diversity as if it were a disease that it isn’t. We struggle; as humans we are born hardwired to fear diversity. What we fear we push away or shun. Like animals, we react rather than question.

A doctor friend once told me that back when he was in medical training, they didn’t teach doctors how to properly react with the parents when a disabled person was born. They handed the newborn to the parents and sent them home, only to have the concerned parents show up at the pediatrician’s office with the disabled baby, where they’d experience the same attitude. Things have gotten better, but we still push away what we as humans can’t cope with.

It is a process that makes sense but doesn’t make sense at all. There is Enneagram theory that supports the concept that we all begin as type six, and then slowly move out and around the circle to other types. Type six souls have a fear component in their makeup, whereas type eights lack this fear. Eights have fears: we just deal with it differently. Humans are wired to fear diversity. Can we change as humans to evolve into people who can learn to not fear other humans?

There are more type sixes than any other type on the Enneagram. While I might want a type six in a crisis where we run out of crazy survival stuff, I don’t want a six who hasn’t done their work on themselves in other situations. I digress.

We tolerate diversity, and in that tolerant space we still want sameness. We thrive in sameness, and when there is failure to thrive, we label it abnormal, stick it in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM), and many times tell the mother that she’s doing it wrong, or that the baby isn’t “right,” and try to move on. Meanwhile a little human needs help.

Jon and I had a kitten who couldn’t get the milk she needed from her mother. Jon fed the kitten, who we named ‘Roo. She bonded with Jon, and we adopted out the mother and kept her. ‘Roo grew into a beautiful cat who loved us and the other kittens we adopted. From ‘Roo I learned to love in new ways.

Humans bond with all types of critters but not all types of humans. We are like animals who are selective in who they allow into their space.

Over the past forty years, we’ve begun a movement to change all of this. This morning during meditation, I began to wonder if we can change from fearful to naturally curious and wanting to know about the differences and embrace them joyfully. 

I want to live in a world where I’m understood. I want to live in a world where the questions I get are ones that lead to that understanding instead of more intolerance. I’m confronted by the human condition: fear.

Here in The Netherlands, the word “revalidation” is used when someone must recover from injury or stroke. The word means to be made acceptable again. It is no different than saying rehabilitation in English. We value a certain level of acceptability, and we attempt to have conformity. While societies choose to punish the nonconformist, those of a different color, religion, economic status, the LGBTQIA+ community, and the disabled are separated from many in society.

A quick search on Google shows that the Han Chinese are the largest race in the world. Other facts that turned up are that the U.S. still thinks that it is the world. And this is not good for the human condition.

My Monday meditation has taken me to a place I would have rather not gone. Is there hope for us as a species? I suppose if I could raise Mr. Darwin from the dead, he’d tell me that the human condition is set, and that evolution will occur, and we will all evolve, and some of us will be wiped out.

I think I’d tell Mr. Darwin that while we are evolving, we’re devolving. While children are becoming more tech savvy, many are losing the ability to form human relationships, and relationships are what it’s about. If we fail to teach children to put down the tech and look people in the eyes, we’re not evolving.

Tolerance is one thing. Understanding and acceptance of what causes us to fear is another thing.

I wouldn’t change who I am because my disabilities have been a part of that process. I’m happy with who I am. The problem is that society doesn’t fully understand me.

Humans are hardwired in a weird or confusing way.

Oct 30

Icebergs and Admirals, Part 2: Reshaping the Self

This is Part 2 in a series about trauma. Please read Part 1 here.

The admiral, in her boat, realizes that this gatekeeping for trauma must be shut down. Her text goes something like this: “Look, I get that there is trouble landside. If this destructive protection continues, I can no longer guarantee that the iceberg will remain stable. We need to shut this down, and do it in a controlled fashion. Let’s get the loyal soldiers of the mind sent out to retirement!”

What happens when the soldiers find out they will be let go is a joyous celebration. The soldiers didn’t want to have to serve as warriors. Who does? Trauma happens, and they get the job.

The process of releasing all trauma stored in the mind is a slow and careful one. With willing participants, it will be hard: it will also be worth the pain of it all. Going through the process is not a pleasant experience.

I mentioned in Part 1 that many people avoid the work of releasing the trauma because they fear that if they do so, they will fall apart, and dysfunction will ensue. Here’s a news bulletin: they are already in that dysfunctional zone! It is sensed by those who are avoidant to the work, and by those who are not able to see what is really going on underneath it all. Those in the second group feel that something is “off,” and while they don’t say anything due to a social contract, they do know that, deep down, things aren’t right.

This can set up clients to embark on a healing journey alone. Sometimes the client gets lucky and has one or two friends who get it. The friends agree to stand with the client in the journey.

Way back in “postland,” I wrote about being in the room with someone going through hard things. This is what good friends will do. I had two such people in my life, and while I knew there would be times when I had to sit with things all alone, I vaguely got where the boundaries and the limits were in that support. Trauma can mess that up for people, and relationships. I came to find out that I didn’t have the full understanding I needed with limits and friendship.

With all things in place, I went into the hard work of getting things repaired.

One by one, the land soldiers were called to the front of a battlement where, for the first time ever, their hard work was acknowledged, and they were excused with honor. Each time this process happened, the iceberg that was out at sea would shrink in its burden and grow in its beauty to become its full and true self.

The therapist allowed my words to stand, and honored them as I did. It was safe to claim my words. Sometimes the sessions left me in deep and dark places, and at other times the session was liberating. All of it worked to create the ability to come to terms with the awful, and to give thanks that I had done what I needed to do to heal the pain of the past.

The healing enabled me to understand that it wasn’t my fault. For some things that I had to let go of, I had been a child at the time. For other things, I had to come to terms with things that happened in my adult life. There were reframings and realizations that I had to revisit loyalties in relationships. All of it was hard and painful and sometimes lonely.

Each time I was able to release a soldier from the burden they had so loyally defended, I felt something float away from that iceberg, and the reason for the solider being there to defend things was no longer present. Over a period of months, things changed—until one day everyone had cleared out of the fortress that had stood for so long.

Now, the work of rebuilding could take place.

Rebuilding means that you can reach for the sun. We grieve the past and begin to celebrate a new future. What healing looks like is a slow discovery of a new life: a life where warriors are no longer needed, and they are sending text messages to admirals guarding icebergs. Now the admiral sends out messages to reject an attempt to ugly up the iceberg, and to get to work on addressing the present issue so that the iceberg will not become something unwanted and sent out to sea.

Healing means accepting the responsibility of facing the stuff head on. Where we once stuffed our trauma and sent it out to sea—to the iceberg—we are now able to assign ourselves to the greater task of dealing in the present. This is functional, and at first it will seem strange. Learning to know when to seek help is a new skill that we now come to face willingly.

It is strange because, for so many years, you did things that led you to feel yourself that you could cope—just like others. You went to school or work, the bills got paid, you did normal life stuff—and you did it stuffing everything away. You fooled yourself into believing it was all OK. It is the ultimate lie.

The ultimate truth is that humans are not made to live in a state of trauma for their entire lives. Trauma can cause illness, the inability to function at our highest capacity, and shattered relationships. Trauma will lead us to believe that all is really well when, in reality, all is not well at all: it is the ultimate lie masquerading as truth, and the ultimate truth is that it must all stop. And so, the delusion of safety shatters. The real sobbing is the signal that, at last, the soldiers of the mind can be released to go sip drinks on the warm beaches and relax from their labours.

Healing is all about doing the right things for the right reasons. Healing is about grieving what once was, and celebrating the light of discovering that there are better ways to do life.

Healing also means that the admiral guarding the iceberg is given permission to send what was once hidden beneath the surface back to land. The admiral now protects the iceberg in new ways. She tells the land folk that they are strong enough to handle what comes up in life.

As we strengthen muscles that have been dormant for some time, we learn what we missed out on. We celebrate the new life before us.

We have WOW moments, and we learn that we can move ahead. For the first time, the carnage of the life we lead is seen clearly. Healing is a series of incidents that lead us to new self-discovery. The work of healing from trauma is about being willing to say WOW as much as we need to. It is about finding the courage to do something real: heal ourselves.

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