Resurrecting Your Life: New Beginnings

Resurrection is a strong word. I was surprised, myself, when I saw it emerge on the page. Resurrecting your life implies it has been dead. Is it true?

Of course, you say, I must be alive or could not be reading this page. Well, on one level that’s true. On other levels, it may be that aspects of you have been dead or as-if dead for a long time. How do we resurrect what may have been dead, when we may not even be aware of its deadness? Or its existence?

These are important questions. Just as significant may be the question of how aspects of us may have died or shut down in the first place.

In previous blog entries, I have referred to various early prenatal and birth events that may have left deep imprints on our personality, attitudes, beliefs, relationship styles and tendencies, as well as other habits and patterns in our lives. This is a common focus in the field of Prenatal and Birth Psychology, but, to me, it is important to also acknowledge and learn to access the potential of this early time in our lives.

When we are affected by very early trauma, we often lose touch with our earliest, most essential potential. Today I would like to talk about that potential and how it can benefit you now.

Enthusiasm and Potential

When little ones first come into being, they are propelled by an inherent life force, a kind of

enthusiasm for life. When we are not traumatized through our arrival process, we engage our lives with this attitude, strengthened by curiosity, playfulness and an urge to fulfill ourselves, whatever that may mean.

If you have ever attended a natural birth, where birth attendants acted only in support of natural birth process, rather than intervening out of fear or need to prevent distress, you will know what this inherent embracing of life can look like.

I remember the first birth I attended. Maya, the little girl so named because she was born on the first of May, shocked us all by immediately lifting her little head and looking around the room at each of us, almost before the rest of her body emerged. We were all deeply touched by her sweet eye contact. We felt an equal eagerness to meet this new little being amongst us.

Take a moment now, as you read this, to consider how you feel reading about this birth. Do you feel a resonant kind of enthusiasm for life? A curiosity? Amazement? Or do you have some other kinds of feelings? Doubt? How could a newborn have lifted her own head and looked around the room like that? Babies can’t lift their heads on their own. Newborns can’t see. This is nonsense. Babies can’t feel enthusiasm. Babies’ nervous systems aren’t developed enough to respond to a situation like this. It was just reflexive. These, by the way, have been the responses of otherwise sensible scientists and researchers who have not believed in the sentience of little ones.

What is your response? Do you feel awe? Do you feel anger? Sadness? Delight? Stress? Do you feel your feelings? Do you feel your body? How does it respond to this story? Is there tension somewhere? In your shoulders? Eyes? Back? Feet? Are you holding your breath? Check out what you are aware of in your body in this moment. What is it telling you?

How we respond to birth stories and reports can inform us as to our own early experience. Not feeling in your own body may relate to a dissociative experience when you were little or to a somatic re-enactment of anesthesia given to your mother at birth. Anesthesia is designed to stop us from feeling pain. This involves not feeling. We may learn at birth to react to stressful situations by similarly not feeling.

Dissociative Tendencies

Dissociation may be considered a kindness of nature to reduce the suffering of animals in distress. If a saber-toothed tiger is about to eat you and there is nothing you can do, it may be helpful to leave the sensations of your body and not have to feel the pain. As little ones, we usually don’t have other options available to us when under stress. We can try crying for mom, but, if that doesn’t work, we aren’t strong enough to fight or fly. We need to withdraw into dissociation to prevent full overwhelm. Unfortunately, once we have learned to react to a situation this way, we may automatically react to life stress the same way.

No matter how long we have practiced this dissociative pattern, our life energy, our life enthusiasm, remains beneath it. We might even appreciate the intelligence of a system that is capable of protecting essential life forces by causing us to withdraw from overwhelming stimulation of the senses. If you have tended to dissociate in your life, consider that this has been a survival mechanism. It has enabled you to get this far in life. It may not serve you today the way it did when you were little, but it was an expression of your bio-intelligence. You made it through whatever terrifying, painful or otherwise intolerable situation you may have encountered before you had a mature enough nervous system to process it, or before you had other defensive strategies in place to deal with it. Can you possibly find an appreciation or gratitude for this dissociative mechanism that kept you from being completely overwhelmed back then?

It is possible that you don’t have a tendency to dissociate. I am writing this as if you do because we live in a highly dissociative world culture in this 21^st century. In the modern western world, we are taught early on to ignore or distrust our bodies in favor of mental reasoning. We learn to cut ourselves off from our first order of experience – our sensations – and to jump ahead to interpretation, or to the interpretations of others.

Even if we have some ability to sense and be with our sensations, how likely are we to stay with them in the speed of everyday life? For example, as you read this, do you have a sense of your body? The internet is a wonderful way for us to connect across the world, but it also speeds us up beyond our biological capabilities. I am reminded of a comparison I once heard, that our brain to brawn (body) ratio when driving a car is the equivalent of that of a dinosaur! Remember, the dinosaurs are now extinct. They were not able to adapt to a new environmental situation. We may need to find ways to counter this brain to brawn ratio if we as a species are to survive. Do you sense your body when behind the wheel of a car? Do you sense it when watching television, talking on your mobile phone, playing video games, or in any of your other daily activities?

Sensing the body is now known to change our neurobiology. Parts of the brain develop more fully when we practice mindful awareness. I believe this can help counter a dinosaur-like brain to brawn ratio, as we learn to interact with events from the present time oriented, socially adept pre-frontal cortex of the brain and its related social engagement nervous system, rather than reacting automatically from a past fear-based orientation of the amygdala, the sympathetic fight-flight nervous system, or the parasympathetic freeze/dissociation nervous system.

Take some time to sense your body and breath as you read this. Feel free to pause in your reading until you feel settled in your breath. Let yourself be aware of what you sense in your body. Which parts of your body stand out for you in this moment? Do you tend to be most aware of areas of discomfort, pain, tension, holding? Are you able to orient to what feels ok or even good in your body? Take some time to scan your body, head, neck, chest, breath, diaphragm/stomach area, belly, pelvis, back, arms, hands, legs, feet. What stands out for you? What do you notice that surprises you? What do you tend to be aware of habitually? Can you challenge your habits a bit and guide yourself to notice areas or sensations you are not accustomed to noticing. This might mean noticing any sensations at all. Or it might mean sensing that little space between your right index finger and middle finger. Or where your neck meets your head. Or the base of your left big toe. What can you sense in this moment that is new for you?

Return to Potential

As we inquire as to what is new, as to what is in this moment, we begin to return to the potential of the little one. Coming back to Maya, everything in the room was visually new for her! She had not seen us before! She had not seen a room full of people, colors, shapes and forms before she was born.

In this newness, there is infinite potential. As we develop and mature, we make decisions. Our cells change in certain ways, even in the embryo, establishing that they will become heart cells or liver cells or skin cells, etc. Throughout life, we make choices and change in response to our life conditions in ways that tend to set us on certain paths. Other pathways become less apparent or available to us through this process. The more we repeat our same choices and decisions, the more rigidly we become set on our path.

Returning to the newness of each moment is one way to recover our early potential. We can do this through making conscious, aware choices, rather than acting automatically out of habit. Various mindfulness based practices support us in being present to each moment in ways that facilitate this kind of awareness in life.

If you know me, you already know that I tend to mention Continuum Movement as I find it such an effective and accessible practice for dissolving our patterns and coming into presence in each moment. Returning to the concept of resurrection, Emilie Conrad, founder of Continuum, has compared the fluidity we are capable of to a snake shedding its skin. Each skin represents a life or period of life being let go of. In order to resiliently meet each moment as it arises, we must relinquish each past moment. We must die and be resurrected again and again. Otherwise, we try to meet the current situation from a stance established for the past and not necessarily appropriate or helpful for the present.

Continuum is of course not the only way to practice death and resurrection. Any practice that really brings us into the moment will facilitate our ability to be present and will take us that much closer to our original potential.

And in this moment, are you still aware of your breath? Your body? Your sensations? If you stay with them, what changes? How does the room look? What is new? How are you being resurrected in this moment? What is new? What is your potential?

After the New Years' Resolutions- Dissolving Your Manifestation Blocks

 As I write this, it is mid-February. New Years’ and its resolutions have come and gone. Winter gloom abounds. Here in Devon, non-stop rains have turned farmers’ fields into lakes and railroad tracks in junk piles. The dark days could be depressing, but the days are getting longer and occasionally the sun comes back out to remind us of what is possible.

In the light of winter, how do your New Years’ resolutions look today? Did you even set any? I’d like to talk today about how our goals and plans, like New Years’ resolutions, may run into roadblocks on their way to manifestation, and how these blocks may relate to our earliest history.

Many years ago, I took and then taught a course called DMA, later changed to Technologies for Creating. Through this course, I changed my life in many ways. Robert Fritz, the founder of DMA, had applied his experience as a musician to the phenomenon of creating what we want in life. He described three stages of the creative process: germination, gestation, and receiving. Years later, through doctoral studies in Pre- and Perinatal Psychology, I learned how our very early experience in the womb and birth can affect our ability to move through these stages. Lets look at how they may be affecting you.

The Path of Least Resistance

The first step in changing anything is awareness. If we are unaware of the problem, we won’t take action to change it. With increasing awareness, our options multiply. In his book, The Path of Least Resistance, Fritz described how we tend to follow the same path repeatedly. In automatic mode, we take the path of least resistance, leading us to where we are used to going. To create something new, we need to establish a new pathway. This requires paying attention and making different choices.

My current mentor, Emilie Conrad, states “the nervous system is a pattern addict.” It needs to establish patterns to enable us to function in our world. If I had to stop to create new neural pathways for each word I write, this blog would never reach you! It reminds me a bit of my efforts to speak French with a friend this morning. After years of not traveling that path, it now seemed quite overgrown! I had to weed out my newer Spanish vocabulary to find the dusty French. My brain was quite tired after twenty minutes of sorting through the mess for every sentence!

Our lives can be a bit like this. We know we are not happy. We decide we want something different. We are determined to have it be different, but the path of least resistance takes us back again and again to what we already know.

In this vein, New Years’ resolutions can become too much work very quickly. They fall away as we continue down the old path. The question is, how do we do something else?

In Continuum Movement, we practice slowing down, which enables us to become more aware and make different choices. We even ask the question, “What else?” What else is possible here? If my body always moves in the same way, what else could happen?

We may make supreme efforts in our lives to be more aware, to make different choices, to take a different path, but we keep finding ourselves back where we were. We might give up and say, I’ll try again next January!

Early Imprints

How might all this relate to our early history? I find it interesting that Fritz used the terms germination and gestation to describe the first two stages of creating. Germination refers to when we get an idea for something; we conceive of it. We may have abundant energy for it, bursting with enthusiasm as we begin down our new pathway. Some people, however, get stuck in their creative process right here at the beginning. They have trouble conceiving of what they want, of setting goals, of allowing themselves to even feel a longing for what could be. Fritz taught techniques for discovering your visions and defining them in practical, measurable terms. This can help us get over that first hump, but why does the hump occur?

We may have tried before to do something different and concluded after our failures that it isn’t possible. Some people, however, do not make this conclusion. I am reminded of holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl, who managed a positive attitude despite all odds in a concentration camp. I don’t know what Frankl’s conception, birth or early life were like. Based on years of experience working with prenatal and birth trauma, I imagine he was a wanted, welcomed baby who enjoyed some healthy bonding within his family.

Where we have suffered in our first creation, coming into this life, our early imprints tend to express themselves with each new beginning in our lives. Planned conception is a relatively rare event. Most conceptions are unexpected, even if the parents want a baby. There may be feelings of ambivalence, questions as to one’s ability to parent a child at this time, thoughts of abortion, or abortion attempts. Conception may have occurred through rape or within a fearful, violent environment of war or mental illness. How we relate to new beginnings, including setting new goals in our lives, can differ, depending on if we experienced rejection or warm welcome when we were conceived, when the pregnancy was confirmed and our presence discovered, or when we were born.

Even if we were conceived intentionally, we might not sense ourselves being welcomed for who we actually are. It is not unusual for couples to try having a baby to solve relationship problems, to manipulate a partner into marriage, or to try to have a boy or girl if they already have a child of the opposite sex. Children are also wanted to ensure continuation of the family line, take over the family business or fill in some other kind of gap. Children born into this field of expectation may find it difficult to be themselves and determine what they really want.

The subsequent stages of the creative process, gestation, and receiving, can also reflect your early history. Gestation refers to the time after conceiving your vision of what you want, when you may not notice much progress, like the bump of pregnancy that is initially too small to be seen. At some point, there is a quickening, when you begin to realize you are making progress. If you did not feel held and welcomed when your pregnancy was discovered, or through your time in the womb, you may not recognize signs of progress toward your goal. Or you may be plagued by feelings of hopelessness, self-judgment, and worthlessness. Do I really deserve to have this? Or you may unconsciously sabotage your own efforts, as a way perhaps to avoid the kind of pain you experienced when you were rejected or judged as a little one.

This theme can continue into the third stage, receiving. This relates to the time of birth and just after when the baby is received. How the parents or family receive the baby is not always joyous. For example, I remember being told many times that my father looked at me and declared how ugly I was! Babies with visible deformities are often met by shock, rejection and judgment. A girl born to parents wanting or expecting a boy can feel like a failure and may never feel able to be or have what she really wants. Babies can also be conceived through a secret affair, to be revealed by how the baby looks at birth. Even if the baby’s looks don’t give away the deceit, the fear, shame, guilt, or dissatisfaction they represent may follow them throughout life.

How we are received can affect our own ability to receive what we manifest in our lives. The perfect job or partner or opportunity may present itself to us and we don’t notice, are too busy or don’t allow ourselves for whatever reason to take it in. Or, we succeed in reaching our goal and, instead of celebrating and feeling satisfied, we focus on how it isn’t quite perfect, or we don’t deserve to have it, or we move on to the next thing so quickly we never really take in what we have accomplished. Sounding familiar yet?

Dissolving the Blocks

A first step in dissolving this kind of block is to be aware of it. Taking time to consider your early history, asking your parents about it if possible, recording it for yourself or telling others about it as a coherent story can help you to recognize its echoes in your life. It can also facilitate acknowledging this as your past, rather than who you are.

It is important to differentiate what has happened to you in the past from who are and what you are capable of now. Having the attentive reflection of a practitioner experienced in prenatal and birth therapy can be extremely helpful in sorting your history out while establishing on a somatic, cellular level a different kind of relational field, where you experience being welcomed, supported, acknowledged, celebrated for who you are.

There is so much to explore in this area. Please stay tuned for my next blog entry to continue on the journey!

The Power of our Stories 2: Gifted through Conditions

In my previous blog post, I described an experience I had many years ago with a concussion that changed the direction of my life. Today, in the wake of New Years’ celebrations around the globe, I would like to discuss the power of this kind of review of our life stories, and the gifts available to us when we are able to witness these stories without identifying with them.

The turn of the year seems like a potent time to examine our lives, or at least the events of the passing year. Based on our year review, we set goals, intentions or resolutions for the year being born. This process, like any transition, can echo our original experience of being born into this life. We often do it unconsciously, with an abundance of numbing substances like alcohol or too much food. This can be a reflection or re-enactment of a birth process involving anesthesia or other drugs. We often feel at the mercy of time, as it moves too quickly or too slowly, emphasized by the passing of another year. Similarly, for many of us, our birth was taken over by the speedy intentions of those attending our birth. It is not uncommon to lose our sense of our own timing in this process.

As January rolls along, I have been with many who are finding themselves feeling heavy, depressed, resistant to embracing the promise life offers them. This is not unusual when we have found ways to evade what is most meaningful for us, following more popular distractions or promises from loud advertisements, or people around us. We may be tired from overeating, partying, or even buying or receiving too many Christmas gifts. What happens to the depths of us in all this activity? I find my clients arriving this time of year feeling worn out, deflated after all the excitement and adventure of the holidays.

For myself, I am aware that the holidays offered not only rest and heart-warming family gatherings; they were also marked by grief and loss. My mother, whose health has been gradually deteriorating, went through a sudden decline at the end of November and seems to have endured a small stroke. I feel sad as I witness her new challenges with walking, talking and orientation. I feel grateful that her sweetness remains and everyone seems to still love her as much as ever, but my mom as I knew her, is not quite still here.

Life or?

At the same time, numerous friends and colleagues are meeting cancerous invasions in their bodies. I witness and support as best I can their valiant attempts to find health in the midst of this embodied chaos. I understand cancer as an expression of cells gone astray, isolated and no longer in resonant communion with the whole. Weakness, weight loss, pain, as well as cognitive effects seem to take over the scene, while the essence of who this person really is strives to express itself. Choices are made about embracing life more fully or embracing death and dying.

I can relate to these challenges. Some years ago, I was diagnosed with a malignant melanoma. I was confused that this happened shortly after I felt I had made for the first time a strong choice to live. This cancer seemed to be a way for my body to quickly express my earlier ambivalence for life. I had always said that, if I were ever diagnosed with cancer, I would only use alternative treatments. When the moment came, however, there wasn’t time to refuse the surgery. My dermatologist told me I needed to get to her office that very day. This was serious! This was life threatening! In that moment, even with the fear of what this all meant, I had no ambivalence. I got myself to her office and had the surgery.

This was a wake up call like no other in my life to date. It is too easy to fall into survival mode, just taking care of what needs to be taken care of in life, rather than deepening into essential presence and intention. After this emergency surgery, the ongoing pain of the scar served to remind me of the choice I had made. I chose to be here. I had the opportunity to leave but I chose to stay. I see this choice being played out by those I know who have been ill or overwhelmed by other life circumstances. They, like me, are being asked to make a choice. I suspect that their choice will affect them for the rest of their lives, just as mine has.

What Do You Choose?

In view of this, I would like to invite you to take a moment now to consider your own past year, and

the life that led up to it. What events stand out for you? What have been your greatest challenges? What has been overwhelming for you? When you consider these experiences, how familiar are they, or the feeling they evoke for you? If they are familiar, chances are you are in some way re-living an aspect of your earlier history. In this case, you have a special opportunity here to revamp your history, if you will. You can make choices now that may not have been available to you back then. Perhaps your situation is about more fully embracing life, as mine was. You have the chance here to really commit, to acknowledge what is most important to you deep down, and choose that.

Take a moment to reflect on this. It may take much longer than a moment, but allow yourself, if it feels right and useful to you, to be with this within yourself. If these challenging situations were offering you a gift or a lesson or a message, what would it be?

If you find yourself opening to new possibilities here, or re-visiting old ones you had forgotten, make some notes for yourself to remind you later. This is important. This is about touching into your original potential. This is about what you are here for.

Whatever it is, welcome to this life you now find yourself in! Welcome to this moment. May it feed and nurture you in whatever way you may need just now.

I would love to hear from you about how this little exploration has affected you. Please feel free to leave a comment below or to contact me to let me know.

Wishing you ease, grace, happiness, peace and embodied potential for this new year!

The Power of Our Stories

Supporting a student recently, I was reminded of just how widespread trauma is amongst us, of how powerful its grip on us can be, and how empowering it can be to simply acknowledge it.

How many of us have not been through overwhelming accidents, embarrassments, abuses, or other assaults in our lives? Most of us have not had the so-called ideal childhood where every moment was wondrous and every interaction rewarding. Most of us were not adequately seen, held, respected, met and reflected as little ones. Research on PTSD (Post traumatic stress disorder) has found that those exposed to challenging situations, like war, for example, are more likely to emerge with ongoing symptoms of stress intolerance if they had a traumatic experience when younger. Our histories, our stories inform us throughout our lives as to who we are, where we belong (or don’t) and what our purpose may be. We define ourselves according to our experience, particularly our very early experience.

The student I talked with had been depressed, having lost interest in the work she had previously been so enthusiastic about. A shocking accident had left her in pain, unable to walk for months, and unable to perform tasks she had previously excelled at. As I listened to her, my heart opened. I felt the angst of her struggle and recognized it. As support, I shared with her a piece of my own history.

My Concussive Story

In 1979, I had a concussion. I was engaged in my favorite hobby – folk dancing. Supposedly a relatively safe activity, I had been dancing Scandinavian turning dances at a weekend workshop out in the country. There were too many dancers on the floor. Someone’s foot accidently became entwined with mine or my partner’s. With all the momentum of the spin, we fell. Had I been on my own, I suspect I would have stretched out my arm and landed on it, probably breaking it. Instead, I went straight back on the back of my head onto the concrete, with the weight of my partner on top of me.

The room went quiet. I now know that the stillness was a combination of both the shock in the room and the shock in my nervous system. There was a doctor at the workshop who came over and starting assessing my state. What is your name, she asked. Can you tell me your name? I knew why she was asking. I had been working as an Occupational Therapist on a Neurology unit. I had patients with recent head injuries who couldn’t remember their names. But I knew my name. Saying it was another matter.

I have no idea how long I lay there in shock, paralyzed, unable to make my mouth or tongue move to say my name. I only knew it took everything I had to make it happen. It reminds me of when a petite mother witnesses her child under the wheels of a car and somehow lifts the car to free the child.  In my case, however, the muscles simply wouldn’t respond. The nerves could not convey their messages. Eventually, after what may have been a minute or an hour, my name came out of my mouth. Relieved, I began to laugh. The whole room joined in. They knew I was fine now and life, or at least dance, could resume.

Beginning A Long Journey

Life was not back to normal, however. I was helped to walk over to a mat at the side of the room to lie down while the others went back to their dance. I felt more lightheaded than I ever had before. As I lay on my mat, I slowly turned my head and there, to my surprise, I saw a newborn baby on the mat next to mine! Someone had brought the baby and left him to sleep while she danced. For me, however, this sight was miraculous. I didn’t know it then, but I, too, was starting a new life. At the moment, innocent like the babe next to me, I knew only what I saw.

For a few days, as my friends checked in with me through the night to make sure I was still conscious and alive, I felt a lightness of being. I felt ecstatic with all life being fresh and new. I wasn’t too bothered when, returning to teach folk dancing, I found I couldn’t balance on one foot to demonstrate a dance step. I simply asked a friend to come and hold my hand as I demonstrated.

Over time, however, the headaches and dizziness began to get to me. I began to worry about my memory. When I returned to work at the hospital, I was horrified to discover myself forgetting important things. One evening after work, I realized I had left a confused old lady on the toilet, having forgotten to go back to retrieve her and help her back to her wheel chair before going home. I feared I would lose my job if I told anyone. I didn’t know what to do. I was immensely relieved to see her happily in her chair the next day. I longed to have my own life fall back into place so easily. I began to feel depressed.

My hopeless feelings were enhanced by my inability at times to find the words I needed. Prior to the concussion, I had loved word games. My folk dance friends and I would spend hours when we weren’t dancing immersed in games of Scrabble and Boggle. I excelled at these games, easily coming up with obscure words that brought me more points than anyone else. Now, nothing came. I struggled at times to remember words even when speaking. A visit to a neurologist added to the growing gloom. Reviewing a brain scan, he told me what he saw in my brain would not come from a traumatic injury like my concussion. It signified a more deteriorative disease like MS (Multiple sclerosis).

This shocking news landed on top of the concussion shock, still lingering from a year earlier. Having worked with patients with MS, I had often thought this debilitating disease with no cure was the last diagnosis I would ever want. The neurologist wanted me to do a spinal tap to complete the diagnosis, but something in me rebelled. I had the uncharacteristic thought to not go through with the spinal tap and just think of myself as healthy. I never returned to the neurologist.

  

Guided into a New Life

I now believe something was protecting me, guiding me. Over the next few years, my life began to turn around. I found myself drawn to alternative therapies, leading me into my body and through my earlier trauma history. As I faced my traumas, they began to resolve, loosening their hold on me. The depression lifted. My life force strengthened. Eventually, led to Craniosacral Therapy, the remaining symptoms from the concussion began to diminish.

Today, I look back to that folk dance accident with immense gratitude. I don’t think I would be able to do the subtle therapies I do now had I not been knocked out of my old ways. Up until that time, I had essentially lived from the neck up. My body was just something I had to take care of so it wouldn’t bother me. After the concussion, I could no longer be as heady, intellectual or articulate as I had been before. It was a huge loss for me. Depression was a natural response.

 

Talking to the student, I described my story briefly, acknowledging how common it is to feel depressed after a life changing injury. I also explained that chronic pain after an injury can affect nerves up into the brain, repeatedly setting off a stress response. The person begins to feel chronically overwhelmed. Their resources are taken up with dealing with the pain. Their cortisol levels are high. They have nothing to fall back on when stress arises in their life. They feel exhausted, drained, losing interest in anything that takes energy.

The student was glowing more and more with each word I spoke. She felt heard and touched by hearing my story and knowing that others have similar experiences to hers. The next day, she thanked me profusely, telling me how helpful it was just to normalize her situation.

Our interaction inspired me to write this, wishing I could as deeply touch and reassure the many others with similar experiences.

Our Stories as Support

We are all unique. Our experiences are all different. But they are also the same. We all have the potential for compassion based on our own suffering. We actually understand much of how it is to be someone else, even though we can’t possibly understand how it is to be that person! We all share this human journey. Perhaps, the most important service our stories provide is the potential for that understanding. While it can be devastating to identify with our stories, believing they define us, there is profound healing and connectedness available when we witness ourselves in relation to those stories. Knowing we are more than what we have done or seen or experienced, and yet that we have been affected. Our stories are powerful and we can be powerful with them.

As Rumi wrote: "The wound is the place where the Light enters you." When we become our stories, we often cannot perceive or receive the gifts they have to offer us. It is when we step back and allow ourselves to hold our stories within the larger wholeness of our being that we begin to understand. Perhaps then, we even have the potential to embody and pass on the message delivered to us via our experience. The Light is then posted for all to see and share.