Simple moments hit me the hardest: a couple of weeks ago a vet told me that he noticed it's easier for him to tie his shoes. It's something most people take for granted, but it makes his day just a little bit easier. That's huge.
You have to change. If you don't change, you're going to die. That is the chilling realization that prompted Gulf War Veteran Michael Nguyen to turn to mindfulness practice to save his life when PTSD was running it into the ground.
But, we will not let it take us down. We will keep putting one foot in the other. We will dance through it. We will write through it. We will love each other through it. We will take the ugliness and transform it into something beautiful.
Jim's tragedy seemed insulting to my already-injured family. Jim died on Sept. 5; my mom died on Sept. 7. She was 46 and I was 15. Jim was 47 and his oldest child was 15. History, cruel beast, had repeated herself in a mocking chorus of eerie parallels.
The medical pundits are wagging fingers and lecturing everyone about how best to manage this crisis. (Lecturing, that is, from the relative calm and safety of television studios, rather than the in the mind-numbing chaos of the ER.)
What if, every day that you are at work, you face serious injury or death? Such work has many challenges, but often unexamined are the spiritual crises that dangerous work entails. It doesn't just threaten the body; it also threatens the soul.
The day after 9/11, Beryl Bender Birch, yoga teacher and Wellness Director at the time of the New York Road Runners, was called upon to help families of victims, first responders and others suffering the brutal aftermath of the attacks on New York City.
Jumping at one's own shadow is a perfect metaphor for living with post-traumatic stress disorder. A darkness that sets up permanent camp in your peripheral vision and won't go away, no matter how much sage you burn, or how many gods you pray to.
By looking at these four central tenets of Buddhism we can better understand how micromanaging our circumstances can cause us to become agitated and restricted. Instead, when we learn to let go of our attachments we can transform our lives in an innovative way.
The risk features involve power, privilege and prestige, the value placed on group membership, the prioritization of group loyalty, the impulse to protect an image, and an institutional sense of righteousness and entitlement.
I'm trying to figure out how best to honor my pregnancies -- all three -- and the body that housed them. They don't necessarily need to be emboldened in my postpartum size and I guess stretch marks of the soul are the stretch marks that aren't readily visible to anyone other than me.
Empowering also entails a responsibility to others to permit them the space to become who they are meant to be, not who I want them to be. And finally, "opening" creates a channel of connection to the people in my life. Where I once built walls, I now build bridges to hope.
Nervous, I stood in the back of the room so as to not be noticed making what I anticipated would be a fool of myself. I'd left my contact lenses at home so that I wouldn't be able to see myself in the mirror, but I could still make out the shape of my body in the distance.
Victim isn't a bad word. It shouldn't imply that someone is a loser, a weakling, a malingerer or a chronic sad sack. For most people, being a victim is a stage in response to experiencing something traumatic that had a victimizing impact on them.
Angela M. Carter was born, and raised, in a Virginia farming town of less than 280 country-folk. Carter moved abroad, to England, for nearly five years and returned to sweet Virginia with a new-found confidence, and voice.
"When a person says to a friend, 'I'll see you later,' or a parent says to a child at bedtime, 'I'll see you in the morning,' these are statements, like delusions, whose validity is not open for discussion.
What 9/11 did to us as a nation is solidify tensions of Brown/Black bodies carrying terror. From the security line to workplace to college campuses, brown bodies are policed and monitored. But this is how we are. This is the America we foster and develop.
Jeanne and I are left feeling strangely off balance. I imagine a three-legged stool, and how each leg is essential for its function. Over our lifetime, my siblings and I learned how to continually interact as a unit, calling upon our very different talents and personalities.
We all know far too well that aching disconnect between who we really are and what we project into the world. For many of us, we consciously choose to disappear -- to be "less than" because the fear of allowing ourselves to be completely "exposed."