![]() As some of you know, I recently became certified as a Grief Recovery specialist. Since then, several of my clients and friends have asked what made me decide to take this path. I learned about the existence of the Grief Recovery Institute from two amazing women I met while in Italy in 2017. They were both grief recovery specialists, and were very inspired by the work they were doing. I was fascinated by what they had shared, and after returning home, found myself poking around on the institute's website looking at upcoming trainings. My mind kept coming up with arguments against the idea, most of which were based on a belief that the losses I had experienced in my own life had not been devastating enough that I could truly understand how grievers feel. Despite those arguments, in quiet moments when my mind was still, my curiosity about the training would resurface. Something inside kept saying: Do This. Unlike the voice of the mind, which flips and flops, hems and haws, and runs in endless analytic circles, it didn't give any supporting arguments. It didn't say why or how I should do it, only that I should. That quiet-yet-persistent inner nudge, or as I like to call it, The Steel-Toed Boot of God pressing into my backside as I enjoy the comfort of the known: Do This. I have learned not to ignore those nudges. I registered for the training, unsure as to whether it was for personal or professional reasons. A few months later, I showed up in Portland and entered a room where 19 chairs had been arranged in a circle, each with its own accompanying box of tissue. Here we go, I thought as I took my seat. In that circle, our discussions shed light on the many ways in which our lives had been impacted not only by losses of all kinds, but by the ineptitude with which we had been conditioned to deal with them. In our training, we were all required to "do the work" of the Grief Recovery Method on ourselves, and with each other. Many times I was moved to tears by the stories of my classmates, as well as the truths I was called upon to share about myself. In that circle, I learned that everyone is a griever, myself included. I learned that every human being has a worthwhile story to tell of pain and heartbreak, and that devaluing our own feelings by comparing ourselves to those who have suffered more severe or numerous tragedies doesn't help them, or us, or anyone. In short, I learned that I was exactly where I needed to be. The Grief Recovery Method is a journey from discovery to recovery. The discovery phase requires looking objectively at all of the unhelpful and even downright dysfunctional conditioning we've all been programmed to rely upon when riding the emotional roller coaster of loss. It brings awareness to the habit patterns we fall into as we seek to relieve the internal pressure that builds when we are unable to deal directly and effectively with our grief. We fail to do so not because there is something wrong or broken in us, but because we have all taken in a wealth of unhelpful information about how to do it, leaving us very little space to process some very BIG emotions. From discovery we move to the recovery phase of the process, which begins with creating an overview of the history of loss in our lives, and the ways in which we have been emotionally affected by it. Next, we take an honest and in-depth look at a single relationship in which our emotions have been left incomplete. The final steps involve being witnessed in our expression of those incomplete emotions in both written and spoken form. Each and every step is carried out in a clear and organized way. We don't revisit those same communications a thousand times over. It is not an open-ended conversation that rambles on into infinity. There's a PLAN, and it's a good one. Recovery can then continue by taking on another significant relationship, and another, until we are dealing with our emotions in real time, no backlog. Essentially, Grief Recovery is a decluttering of the heart. When I returned home, my unanswered questions had been replaced with a mission to continue learning and to reach as many grievers as I am able. The experience of working with my first few one on one clients and first group has been inspiring. I feel privileged to sit beside them as they navigate the seemingly treacherous waters of the heart, allowing themselves to acknowledge and express emotions that we have all been conditioned to avoid. It is downright riveting and deeply rewarding to watch them complete the process, reporting that they now feel whole in places where they once felt broken. Thus far every one of them have found this process to have been incredibly helpful. I am not implying that the Grief Recovery Method is a magic wand that we wave over ourselves to take away any and all sadness following a significant loss. Honestly, I don't think that most grievers would even want that. There will still be moments of sadness. It's part of life, and it's part of love. When we lose something or someone important to us, we are never the same, but we can recover a sense of wholeness and move forward with a renewed sense of purpose. We can keep our fond memories, and even a little sadness too, without it overwhelming us or affecting our ability to live fully and love deeply. If any of you are feeling that cosmic nudge as you read about this process, not from your head, but from your heart and guts and soul; that quiet-but-powerful something that says, Do This, I would love to help you take the action steps necessary to recover from your losses. The Grief Recovery Method is not limited to death or divorce. Yes, losing your dog or cat counts. Yes, your empty nest counts. Yes, all of it counts. Let's do this. Get in touch: email me at [email protected], or call text (850) 525-2916. As of June 2019: The 7-session individual series is just $420 and includes The Grief Recovery Handbook, which is yours to keep. Payment can be broken up into as many as seven installments, and paying in full at the beginning of the program will result in a discount of $20. We are currently in the midst of an 8 week group series which began on June 7th. If you are interested specifically in doing the group format, please message me with your contact information and I will add you to the list of potential participants for the next group. The investment for the group series is $250. PLEASE contact me if you are in need of grief recovery and truly cannot afford to pay for it. We will figure something out.
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![]() Lately my mind has been more quiet than usual, and it feels a little unnatural to try to draw myself out of that silence in order to write something. For the first time in my adult life, I don't have a lot of thoughts crowding my mind. For no outwardly identifiable reason, I feel peaceful in a way that I haven't before, and I'm grateful. I am still doing the usual every day things. I go to the studio, I go to the office. I teach my classes. I give massages. I feel fully present in my work, and in my household tasks, errands, etc. As soon as my responsibilities have been taken care of, an undeniable draw to go to the woods seems to overtake me. There are some nature trails near my home that I have always enjoyed visiting during any time of the year when it is not too hot, buggy, or muggy. Lately the draw to this place has increased exponentially. Trees, leaves, and vines seem to beckon me with their springly announcement of renewal, radiating that quiet yet vibrant peace that is their medicine. Nearly every day, I ride out to the trails to walk, sit, and commune with nature. I watch leaves fall, one by one, from the trees. I encounter snakes, birds, squirrels, turtles, teeny tiny grasshoppers, skinks, anoles, and numerous others. I spend a good amount of my time there in what I would call open-eyed meditation. Sometimes I sit, sometimes I lie down and stare up at the canopy of green. I probably appear crazy or borderline catatonic to passersby, staring out with my gaze unfocused, face neutral, completely still. In the past, I might have felt a need to animate myself enough to smile or nod as people passed so as not to appear weird. These days, I don't bother to disturb my weird self. I'm pretty sure it looks like "no one's home". Perhaps it is also weird that I have formed a friendship with a tiny heart-shaped leaf that I discovered one day while sitting under a couple of trees. I am particularly fond of pairs of trees that grow close together because it always looks to me as though they are dancing or embracing; or at the very least, good friends. I find this especially endearing when the two are not of the same species. On a trail called "Coke Can", there is a pine tree who has taken up company with a magnolia. This odd couple provides me with a beautiful skyscape to stare at as I lie on the ground, slack-faced in my newfound quietude. For me, this is way better than TV... One day, after laying under those two trees staring up at the pine needles glistening in the breeze, and listening to the magnolia leaves playing their rattle-rustle percussion music, I returned to a seated position and my eyes happened upon a single, bright green heart-shaped leaf that had pushed up through the carpet of dried pine straw and magnolia leaves. It was putting off such a cheerful vibe that I found myself saying "Oh, Hi!" Right out loud. With an exclamation point. To a leaf. I sat for a few more minutes, smiling in appreciation of the little sprout before rising to continue my walk. A few days later, when I returned to sit under those two trees, I laid down in the same spot and remembered my little heart-shaped pal. I looked but did not find it at first, so I carefully removed some layers of pine straw and magnolia leaves from the spot where I remembered seeing it. It was still under there, alive and bright. I like to think that maybe I did the little plant a favor by putting it back in the way of the sun's rays. I have gone back a few more times to that spot to sit and re-dis-cover the leaf. Maybe the reason I am so fond of this little sprout is that it reminds me a little of myself. I am slowly but surely growing towards the light. Sometimes things fall on me, and the light becomes a little more dim, but I know which direction is up. Sometimes I rely on others to help me see the light. Neither I or my little leaf friend can really take the credit for our growth. There is no need to "figure it out". Our unfolding happens all on its own, a natural process. Grace unfolds us. We are along for the ride. We both had to spend some time in darkness, until the moment when we cracked open, grew some roots, and began to unfold. Being of this earth, we stay rooted in the fecundity of that darkness, growing down as well as up and out. Lately I have frequently found myself silently communicating to trees, leaves, vines, and other plants, as well as animals (other than my cat, who I've been unabashedly talking to for almost a decade). Mostly what I have to say is: I love you. You are beautiful. Thank you. When I say this to them, I am also saying it to myself, to the earth, and to the thing that language fails to capture with words like God, Spirit, Universe, or Divine, which is all of those things, and none of those things, and everything. I don't feel the least bit crazy while sending these telepathic transmissions to the plants. In fact, I feel a whole hell of a lot more sane than I ever did the thousands of times that I walked past them with smoke coming out of my ears as my mind chewed on all of the things it perceived as important, almost none of which had to do with the moment at hand. This is what I have to share today. A love story starring myself and a leaf. Myself and nature. Myself and the Earth. Myself and everything. I feel vulnerable and a little uncomfortable putting it "out there", in the way that one feels upon realizing that a former and possibly "cooler" version of herself would have found her current self laughable. That former self is not here today. I cannot connect to her, and honestly, I don't want to. I love you. You are beautiful. Thank you. That is all. |