A new session of Yoga for Grief Support started this week, and at the first class, I always take the time to define some key words: Grief, Yoga and Mourning.
Yoga - A way to form connections with yourself in your mind, body and spirit. Another definition that I like is: "Yoga is the perfect opportunity to become curious about who you are." - Jason Crandell
Grief - Our internal, natural and organic response to loss. It encompasses everything we feel and think around the loss we have experienced - including our thoughts, emotions, physical symptoms (changes in sleep patterns, loss of appetite, nausea, achiness in limbs, chest pain)
Mourning - The shared experience of grief. Grief gone public. Or, bringing grief outside yourself.
Everyone grieves, but not everyone mourns. Grief has energy - you can feel it build up inside yourself, and perhaps you can also feel the release through crying, talking, writing it out. Grief without mourning is like a pressure cooker - it builds and builds. Grief needs to move and be expressed outside yourself. This is mourning.
In order to heal grief you must mourn....finding safe places, people and way to express your grief outside yourself. "Time heals" is a myth - it's what you do with your time that heals - authentic mourning is how you begin to heal - in your own way and your own time. In this class, we will use yoga as a way to explore our grief and learn about it. The more we can learn about our inner experience of loss/grief, the more we can understand it. The more we understand it, the more compassion we have for it. The more compassion we have, the more space we have within to heal it.
What I love about yoga is that yoga,
1. Invites you inside your mind and body in the spirit of exploration and acceptance (letting things be just as they are)
2. Teaches you strategies to support yourself. This may be through poses that feel comforting in your body, or by developing skills around understanding the nature of thoughts and emotions which can build resilience.
There are many other avenues of mourning. Some people talk their grief out. Write. Dance. Sing. Pray. Create. The list goes on. How do you mourn?
I was listening to a podcast about Buddhism – which I have always found to be a complementary philosophy to yoga philosophy – especially around learning how to deal with suffering. There is something about these Eastern philosophies that I find peaceful – not because they have the answers, but because they confirm that life is made up of questions.
On this particular day I was listening to a podcast featuring Bernie Glassman. He was speaking about bearing witness and loving action.
The practice of bearing witness is to see all of the aspects of a situation
What I love about Bernie Gassman’s talks, is that he goes in with no agenda – he speaks to whatever arises in the moment. He “bears witness” to the needs of the people he is speaking with…and goes from there. He started his talk by asking if anyone had any questions that had arisen from a talk he had given the previous day; encouraging the audience by relating the power of questions in the statement, “Questions have energy and answers do not.”
Oh, how I loved this statement. Questions have energy.
Answers stop the question. Complete it. Finish it. Answers are linear. Questions carry energy with them. Questions are circular and spiral, taking you deeper.
It made me think of living with grief, and all the questions that surround such a change in life. Especially because many of these questions have no answers: We may never know how or why our loved one died, we may never know what happens to the spirit after death (if anything), we don’t know moment to moment, day to day where our emotions will take us and how we will go one living with our loss.
So many questions…so few answers.
Hearing Bernie Glassman re-phrase these mysteries in such a way made me realize that maybe the answer is the question itself. There is power in not knowing and not having the answers. Perhaps this is what keeps us moving along.
As Wendell Barry says,
“It may be that when we no longer know what to do,
Part of journeying through grief is appreciating that this path you are on is one that has never been traveled before, by you or by anyone. The specifics of your grief are defined by innumerable personal variables: your personality traits, the traits and life of the person who died, the circumstances of their death, intricacies of your relationship to them, etcetera, etcetera. Considering all these factors, it is suffice to say that there is no one way to grieve. There is no definitive road map, no to-do list, no checklist to refer to.
Simply being on the path creates your path. It’s the questions that guide you on your way.
How do questions like these land within you:
“What happens when someone dies?”
"Why did this happen?"
“How am I going to bring myself comfort when I feel so torn up?”
“How am I going to choose to live my life in a way that feels meaningful and true based on my experiences?”
Can you ask these questions for the sake of the questions themselves? Can you bear witness to your questions, and be comfortable with not (yet or ever) knowing the answers?
In the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, the fourth Niyama (ethical discipline, or rule-of-conduct) is Svadhyaya, which means self-study. Ancient yogis looked inside themselves for the answers to cosmic questions, and in fact, the sutra says “Study thy self, discover the divine.”
Yoga, as a holistic system allows this self-study to take place by turning your attention inward, developing concentration and single pointed inner focus, and observing the true nature of the mind. The physical and spiritual practice of yoga cultivates discernment, awareness, self-regulation and eventually union with your big-S-Self (the true self, Atman (inner self or soul), immense Consciousness, or divine within you).
But, before that happens, it is likely that your practice of inner yoga and self-study, will turn up even more questions…especially in the face of grief. The take home point is that your process of discovery must arise from within.
This philosophy of yoga can be applied each time you do a pose. Instead of becoming complacent with sequencing and the execution of certain poses, treat each pose as though it were the first time you were doing it. Practice becoming re-acquainted with your body and your mind in each moment - opening yourself up to the process and wisdom of studying and discovering yourself with non-judgemental and compassionate attention. If a question, query, or debate arises within you, practice breathing into it. Give the question a life of it’s own, by which the answer will eventually be lived.
In Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke says,
“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.”
And so, as you journey to the heart of your Self and the heart of your grief, trust in the nature of your questions to carry you forward, and backward – both of which are required as you integrate loss. This is not a sudden process - it’s a gradual process. A gradual awakening and evolution of understanding your own specific beliefs around death, life and living.
If you're interested in reading more about the Yoga Sutra's of Patanjali or more by Rilke, check out these books below:
Recently I was driving with my 9 year old step son, Gabriel, and we were listening to my “Sandy’s Favourites” playlist on Spotify. This song came on:
“Ohhh, I love this song,” I said, as I turned up the volume. Gabriel is a musical kid – he can play the guitar and the drums. When he listens to music, he really listens. He’s recently began reading music, and often on our dog walks or drives we compose our own songs: The Mountains are Calling and I Have To Go Pee are two recent ones.
“Can you believe someone wrote this song, and is playing it on the piano?” I asked him.
I looked in the rear view mirror. He was quiet and had a look of total concentration on his face.
I wondered what his thoughts were, but didn’t press him for an answer.
We listened for a while longer, then he quietly asked, “Was he sad when he wrote it?"
“I think so,” I said. “It sounds sad, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“If he was sad when he wrote it then it’s pretty cool that he can show his sadness with music.”
“Yeah,” He said again.
I wondered how the song landed within him, and how he experienced this particular piece, knowing that for me, it often moved me to tears.
He’s a sensitive, insightful and stoic boy. Now, I’m no expert in child development, but I see him struggle to express his emotions with words. Heck, I see adults (myself included) have difficulty expressing my emotions with words. Yet somehow a three-minute piece of music can say so much.
Maybe that’s because music is inherently complex with it’s notes, melodies, tempos and pauses. Perhaps that taps into the complexities of our emotions that are too complex to adequately relate with the structure and limitations of a few words. And maybe this is true of all modes of non-verbal expression - art, dance, tears, movement, yoga - it somehow captures more; more broadly, more deeply, more wholly…more something.
These avenues of expression are multifaceted. Yoga for example, has a dual relationship with emotion. It can both reflect it and release it.
There have been many times that my mood or emotion dictates my yoga practice: a supported child’s pose, or prone savanasa to help soothe me or turn my attention inward.
Conversely a more vigorous practice reflects my inner energy, whether it was heightened from adequate rest or agitation. Both the intention and the movement of the practice aligned with my mood, and in that way was an expression of it.
There have also been times when my yoga practice released emotion. Slowing down and paying attention to myself, combined with movement, releases energy and emotion. Sometimes I feel it building, and have to intentionally let it release. Sometimes it comes out of now where and takes me by surprise. Twists seem to do it for me, or during savasana when emotion hits a rolling boil and spills over. That release is an expression of something so complex that I can’t even describe it with words.
What about you?
What has been your experience with the expression of emotion that is beyond/outside/in addition to words?
If you’re curious about exploring this more in your own personal yoga practice, consider signing up for my 8 week online yoga program: a holistic and practical program designed to use yoga in a way that supports, reflects, and moves grief.
And, if you want to explore some of the music I use, you can find it on Spotify.
Well THAT took a long time!
Last winter I signed up for an online course with Abbey Of The Arts. Within moments of registering and starting the course, I knew that the platform they used for their online experience (Ruzuku.com), would work for my vision of an online Yoga For Grief Support program. What I had spent years contemplating finally looked possible.
I bought a high-def camcorder at Costco, and a tripod from Amazon, googled tips on recording yoga videos, Garageband tutorials for audio, and Imovie for editing. I was ready.
I started filming in January. I took a couple of days off work and spend an extra long weekend at my parent's place, recording in their lovely sun room. Making these videos wouldn't be as much fun if it weren't for Ruby my not-so-helpful, helpful assistant.
I thought I'd be ready to launch the series in March...ha!
In February I took a week off work to edit the audio and video, and splice them together. I loved having a dedicated week of working on my labour-of-love interspersed with dog walks and coffee breaks.
Well into March, I was trying to figure out all the extra tid bits; linking the program to my website, integrating Paypal and a mailing list etc. Videographer turned IT Department of one.
April and May were spend editing all the written content and uploading videos...it takes quite a while to do both. Each video is around 2GB and that takes HOURS!
Long past my anticipated deadline of March, May and June were spent crossing my Ts and dotting my i's and adding little extra details like this blog post, figuring out a wavier, and insurance requirements.
Now, here we are at the end of June and I'm in the last stages of production - testing all the links and the purchase process.
Coincidentally, I'm ready to launch today, on Wednesday June 28th 2017. This wasn't consciously planned, but it worked out well because today is a very significant day.
It was Wednesday June 28 2006 that Cam's life support was turned off, and my life changed it's course forever. I'll never forget 9:25am...I looked at the clock moments after the respiratory therapist pressed "silence" on the life support machine and Cam Michael McTaggart died.
I wanted to launch this in honour of him and me. This program wouldn't be in existence without him.
To learn more about the online program, click here.
I am frequently asked about what yoga studios and classes are good. I find this a difficult question to answer because there are so many variables at play. Especially after the death of a loved one.
There are as many styles of yoga as there are teachers. Not only is each class a different intensity level, but also each teacher adds their own unique flare, communicating their own personal interpretation of how yoga has been felt or expressed their bodies, to the class.
I encourage students to find a teacher that they like. One that they “buy into.” Who’s teaching resonates. I believe there has to be a sliver of common ground, where the life experience, and the experience of yoga as the teacher has interpreted it, meets the student’s. This helps to make a yoga practice feel possible – this is something I can do - and fosters a sense of trust and safety. From this place, a teacher will challenge his/her students, but the pre-requisite for all good learning, and in this case, good mourning, is safety.
In my past life, I was a competitive mountain bike racer. Living in Edmonton, my off-season (winter) was months long. So, I took up yoga. I practiced physically challenging styles of yoga – Ashtanga and vinyasa – because I wanted to improve my physical conditioning by strengthening and stretching. These classes “met me where I was at.” They met my physical needs and my mental expectations about what I wanted my yoga to be.
After Cam died, I continued with this intense style of yoga. In the first few months it helped to balance me – I was anxious, restless and confused. It took the edge off. Still in shock, my old routine was comforting. It was something my body was good at and could do. It was something I had control of, as every other area of my life spun out of control.
As the shock wore off and I realized anew that Cam died, grief punched me in the stomach and left me on my knees. As the reality of my situation set in, I became increasingly fatigued. I didn’t have the physical energy to get out of bed, never mind a 90-minute power yoga class. I was emotional and labile. I’d burst into tears mid pose, and spend all of savasana fighting back sobs.
I wasn’t buying into, or comforted by the teachings the various teachers provided. They felt cliché: I wanted to scream, “Everything doesn’t happen for a reason,” and “Fuck positive affirmations!” None of it felt applicable to my life, and in fact, it made me feel shameful for not measuring up to par.
I felt out of place. I didn’t feel safe. Those classes were no longer a good fit for me.
I found an exceedingly gentle yoga class taught by a woman, Beth, the basement of her house. For two hours every Wednesday, we would gather. In those two hours, we would do three poses, using cushions, blocks and bolsters for support and comfort. We spent oodles of time breathing, and learning meditation.
These classes were challenging in a different way. They met me where I was at - terrified, confused and raw. The slow gentle postures allowed me to feel my body, and my emotions, which was possible because I felt safe there – as safe as I could feel with raw grief coursing through my veins. In any case, I wasn’t the only once crying in Beth’s class.
If you live in a major city, the breadth and choice of yoga classes can be over-whelming. If you’ve never done yoga before, I would suggest starting gentle, so you can learn the basics, and have an affirming experience. From there, find a teacher that you like. Try a few until you find a good fit.
Everyone’s grief experience is so individual, and everyone comes to yoga a various points in their life. If you remember to find a class to “meet you where you’re at,” you’ll find something that reflects your needs in the moment. Remember, it’s OK to experiment and change your mind…life isn’t constant: sometimes you’ll need the intensity; sometimes you’ll need the quiet. The choice is yours and the options are out there.
A good companion for grief is the book “Understanding Your Grief” by Alan Wolfelt. Although it's not a yoga book, much of Wolfelt's philosophy is very yogic, and I found it a helpful resource to blend what I was learning about grief in my life, into my yoga practice. For this book, and more recommendations, check out my bookstore.
Why do I teach yoga as a method of grief support? The easiest answer to this question is because yoga helped me after I suffered the death of my partner in 2006.
I didn't see the benefit of yoga right away, but I went to regular yoga classes - more because it was something to do than anything else. Over time, I noticed I was sleeping better, and breathing deeper. When I was calm, I felt more calm...and when I wasn't I felt more aware that I wasn't. I learnt movements, positions, stretches and breathing exercises that I could do by myself and for myself when I needed it. Rolling out my mat, sitting down, closing my eyes and taking a few conscious breaths became a ritual.
Ironically, in the stillness and quiet of the yoga studio, my grief began to bubble up and bubble over. Slowing down in yoga made me aware of everything that I had pushed down and pushed aside to simply get through my days.
I felt awkward in a room full of young, fit, bodies in fancy yoga clothes. I felt disheveled, and haggard. I sat alone on my mat before class started, annoyed at how happy everyone was. During the class, I'd burst into tears during twisting poses. I'd stifle my tears during savasana. At the end of class I'd roll up my mat and hurry out of the room, not wanting anyone of those happy people to see I had been crying. There were sometimes over 20 people in those classes, and I felt immensely alone.
I didn’t understand why I was crying. I didn't know why twists caused it. I didn’t understand why I felt so crazy all the time, and angry about happy people. I didn’t understand the black hole of emotion that opened up when I learned to meditate. And yet, in every class a yoga teacher would say or do something that felt supportive and helpful; and I wished there was a yoga class specifically designed for someone like me. Someone who was grieving.
Gandhi said, “Be the change that you wish to see in the world.” So I did. I studied yoga. I took notes and wrote down reflections after each class. I went to counseling and grief support groups. I started to learn about grief in MY body and mind.
I took my yoga teacher training. I got certificates in Bereavement Support, and Death and Grief Studies. I applied my knowledge around the therapeutic use of activity from my professional career as an Occupational Therapist.
Over time, I developed a class where grieving people could do yoga, learn the benefits, apply the wisdom and cry if they wanted to or needed to. A huge piece of the class is education about death and grief - dispelling misconceptions, and learning (re-learning) the natural, instinctive response to loss that our society has so carefully tried to avoid.
There is a prayer flag I made, hanging in my back yard, that quotes the Talmud. It sums up why I am so passionate about supporting other people who are bereaved and grieving. This flag is hanging in view of my kitchen window and when I see it I am reminded...
"Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly NOW. Love mercy NOW. Walk humbly NOW. You are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it.”
It’s been almost a year since I wrote on this blog. For those who have subscribed to receive notifications of updates, I apologize for my absence.
I’ve lacked focus here. I’ve struggled with what to write. The topics I want to write about - yoga and grief - are so huge, that it’s overwhelming to distill it down to one coherent piece that is educational, informative and personal.
Over the past few years I’ve pursued more education and training in yoga, grief and end-of-life, and it seems that the more I learn, the harder it is to write about. One of my great Uncle’s who was a famous chemist once said, “The more I learn, the less I know.” I always wondered what he meant by that. Now I know.
I sent out a SOS to my email list, requesting feedback on what people would like to read about. I got one reply – from my friend’s husband – who simply wrote, “I would like to know why you teach what you do.”
It’s taken me a while to condense that suggestion into a direction and plan. Why do I teach what I do?
I like where this could go. It appeals to me to take it right back to the beginning. Right down to the studs. The crux of why I thought yoga would be a good support for grief, and why I created the class I did.
I’m excited about this. It’s given me a new way to communicate how yoga can support grief – from a more personal vantage point – and yet, hopefully universally enough that people can relate.
…I know I’ve said that before, but really…this time I mean it.
“What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace.” -- Agnes M. Pharo
Tenderness for the past
Reflecting on the past year, it has no doubt been filled with change. That, it seems, is the only constant. Reflect back with kindsight, not hindsight. Be compassionate for yourself and your situation. After all, we are all doing the best we can, with the knowledge we have. Over time we learn and change and grow, but the seeds of change are planted in the past.
Courage for the present
When life is intense, disruptive and painful it is easy to become overwhelmed. In each moment take a deep breath, find your center, and be responsive. Courage isn’t only bravery and heroism. It’s an inner strength and calm awareness, combined with an ability to be honest and authentic about who you are. Remember, courage can be a quiet thing, and found in the accumulation of small steps.
Hope for the future
Hope can be found in your personal search for, and reflections around purpose and meaning in your life. Hope can whisper from the corners of unpredictable situations, or sing from the mountain tops of tried and true strategies that bring you peace. Borrowed hope is hope that you sense and trust in other people, even if you feel hopeless yourself.
As we look forward into 2015, and are met with the mystery of the future, I wish for hope. Hope that every path will lead to peace.
“Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence.” - Lin Yutang
There is a difference between a broken heart and a heart broken open. The broken heart is real but leads to a shutting down on life. The heart broken open creates the possibility for light to filter in. In that open space, there is room for compassion and tenderness to grow. In the end, choice helps to shape your experience. Choose to let your heart be broken open and see what remains to grow. - Ashley Davis Bush
I resonate with the work of Ashley Davis Bush and find her to be so affirming and loving in sharing her wisdom. When I saw the quote written above on her Facebook page and it made me think of all the heart opening practices there are in yoga.
Slowly and gently yoga invites you to notice your heart. To breathe into it, and to create space in it. Enough space to hold all the hurt and all the love simultaneously - perhaps this is what being broken open means. Connecting with the heart's brokenness and openness creates compassion and understanding, and from there, choice. Choice to treat yourself compassionately, choice to make decisions that are life giving and self supportive. There can be wisdom and guidance in a heart broken open.
Below is a short heart opening sequence.
As you move through this practice be open to how your heart is communicating with your mind and body. Notice what thoughts present themselves to your mind. Notice your emotional reactions to them. Notice the subtle (or not so subtle!) sensations in the body. This practice isn't about solving or changing anything. It's simply about connecting and opening to the wisdom and awareness that can reside in a heart broken open. Trust yourself.
Start in savasana. This is my favourite way to start class. Use this time as a time to transition from living your day outside yourself (as is often the case with jobs, families etc) to a "yoga space." A time of awareness and connection with yourself. Allow your body to settle, and bring your awareness to what you are experiencing on the inside. Take this time to allow your mind to settle on the breath, noticing its rhythmic flow, constancy, and availability. There is no rush. Take time to slow down. Take time to practice being open to and with your heart.
Bend your knees and roll onto one side. Resting there for a moment. Pressing up to sitting and setting up for a deeper heart opening pose. For this pose you will need two blankets, folded so it resembles a long skinny rectangle. Set yourself up so that one folded blanket is placed towards the head of your mat, around where your shoulder blades will be. Have the other folded blanket to place under the knees.
You will lay back on the blanket so it touches the shoulder blades. The shoulders must be above the blanket, so the shoulders can release towards the floor. Notice in the photo how my arms can easily fit above the blanket and the blanket is placed below the arm pits. **If the shoulders are resting on the blanket, it will not allow your heart to open. Place support under the head if your chin is lifting up, or if there is tension in the neck or throat.
Allow your upper back and knees to gently cascade over the blankets...hence the name, waterfall pose; Imagine water as it flows over rocks in a stream, smoothly and softly.
Breathe into your heart. Inhale and swirl the breath around your heart with the intention of having the breath nurture and explore the heart. Exhale and relax, sink, soften. Inhale and swirl, nurture, open, explore. Exhale soften.
To move out of this pose, roll over to one side and press up to sitting.
Next, move yourself to a wall. Have your folded blanket ready to use, or a bolster. The easiest way to get into legs up the wall pose is to sit beside the wall right hip and thigh is parallel to the wall. Turn to lay down on your back and swing your legs up the wall. Spend a few moments here, allowing your body to adjust to this position. There is no hurry. Slow down.
Bend your knees and place your feet on the wall. Lift your hips up off the floor and slide your blanket or bolster underneath your hips. You want to feel stable here so adjust the props as needed. Roll your shoulders together behind your back and press them into the floor so your breast bone lifts towards your chin and your chest and heart is open.
Breathe into the openness of your heart - the center of your chest. As you inhale expand the breath to both shoulders. Exhale and soften. With each in-breath expand the breath further: from the center of your heart to both shoulders and eventually down the arms and into the hands.
When you are ready to come down: place the feet on the wall and lift the hips. Remove the bolster or blanket and roll down one vertebrae at at time. This can be a really nice release for the back so move slowly and care-fully.
Once your hips are back on the floor, rest.
Staying in legs up the wall is a nice way to end the practice. Or, stretch out, lay flat (as in the start) and rest. For the first 10-20 breaths of savasana focus on breathing light into the heart. You can imagine a warm glow or a candle flame. As you inhale, imagine that light growing brighter. As you exhale maintain a sense of a light inner body. Inhale and grow the light brighter. Exhale and maintain.
"The heart broken open creates the possibility for light to filter in." - Ashley Davis Bush.
I recently started reading a book called Full Body Presence by Suzanne Scurlock-Durana. The first chapter had me hooked.
In those first few pages she wrote of something that I have known on some level, but seeing it in print made it so much more tangible.
She describes many instances when we don't trust our internal awareness - for example, feeling intense grief over a dear friend moving away but being told by people around you that your grief was not important, and shameful..."Why are you worried about it? You have many other friends, right?" Or having a creepy reaction to someone in your life and being told to stop being so silly and jumping to conclusions.
"In all these examples, your body was telling you something important, but those around you tried to convince you that what you were sensing wasn't real or valid" (page 9).
It was this lack of trust of our inner and deepest self that struck a chord within me.
She further describes how a lack of trust of our inner worlds leads us to looking for external sources to shape, define, solve, remedy our lives.
Take grief for example.
Our grief slows us down physically and mentally. We feel tired, lethargic, numb, confused, disorientated, lost and sometimes even crazy. Our emotions are all over the map. We feel so different, our lives feel foreign. We wish we could go back in time and never let go of the past.
The worst part is this: In the throngs of grief you don't know what to do. You've never lived like this before. If you don't know, and don't trust what you feel inside, you look outside yourself for the answers.
You look to a society that pushes speed, rewards efficient solutions, reveres stoicism, and demands productivity. We, as a society, don't do well with stillness, solitude, loneliness, pain, and hurt.
So here we are.
"Keep really busy," they advise.
"Don't cry. She wouldn't want you to be sad," they scold.
"You need to get back to how you were before he died," they push.
"Don't live in the past," they warn.
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," they say.
"Quit playing the victim."
Need I go on?
We are taught to not trust our grief.
Intuiting the message, reading between the lines, understanding the subtext, we hear this:
"Whatever grief-striken energy you feel inside you is wrong. You feel the wrong things. You think the wrong things. You are doing it wrong."
What I teach in Yoga for Grief Support is this:
"Whatever grief-stricken energy you feel inside you is something to pay attention to. There is wisdom there. Let's learn, together, how to touch those wounds with compassion."
If you feel it, it's real.
If you feel it, it's important.
If you feel it, you can heal it.
Be curious about it. What is it saying? What is it's message? What is it's deepest need?
What if you believed that your internal world is telling you something very important about how you need to heal and nurture your broken heart?
Imagine, just for a second that the grief within you can be trusted - even in it's painful.
I mean, you are hurt, afterall. Let's spend some time there.
Say to it, "I will take care of you."
This is what moving towards your pain is. You must move (gently and with no rewards for speed) towards (and through) your pain to heal.
Suzanne Scurlock-Durana writes that our bodies are "incredible navigational systems that inform us constantly, from our gut instincts to our heart's deepest yearnings" (page 5).
Let's shift our relationship to our instincts and our senses from one of mistrust and doubt to reliance, and connection.
I'd love to hear your feedback on this book if/as you read it.
Please feel free to post comments under this blog.
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