Help with making a living as a coach from a mind-body perspective and mind-body healing tips for your well-being.
I’ve been waiting for my new last name to appear for several months. I knew inner wisdom and magic would deliver it, but I was getting antsy and wanted to force it to appear. But, like so many creative things, it simply would not be forced.
The idea of a new last name came to me when the divorce mediator asked if I would be returning to my maiden name. I’d been working through the divorce process for several months, which entailed feeling lots of emotions, facing fears, and starting my new life after twenty years of marriage.
Suddenly I knew that I wouldn’t be returning to my maiden name. I could feel something bubbling up inside; it felt strangely like joy, which I hadn’t felt in a while.
I would find a new last name, and it would represent my alignment with my spirit. It would be the name I bestowed upon myself after years and years of curiously discovering who I am. It would be a reclamation of myself. A way to use my voice and be true to...
It’s four-thirty in the afternoon, and I’m attempting to get groceries. This attempt is an utter failure, because my daughter is having a very well-timed meltdown. She has climbed with agile speed into the grocery-filled section of the cart and is standing there, body tensed and face red, yelling and crying as I try to navigate a speedy exit route. I am trying to find calm so I can strategize. She refuses to sit down.
I can feel my whole body tense up as I grip the handle and try to firmly (but kindly) encourage my child to sit down in the cart. My mind is racing, accumulating self-critical thoughts faster than I can mentally bat them away. I am one-hundred percent freaking out inside and trying not to show it.
Before I know it, I’ve become angry mommy and I’m no longer able to handle the situation with the calm, loving energy I’d prefer to use.
Though we know, cognitively, that self-criticism and panic don’t help moments like these, it can...
The disturbing events of the last year have created a wave of gripping visual images that float in and out of my conscious awareness:
Me, at the age of 11, marching for civil rights and singing “We Shall Overcome.” Me, as a college student, when the slogan “Make Love Not War” saturated our student culture.
My great-grandmother embracing her son, my grandfather, for the last time as she helped him escape the pogroms in his native Poland. He was hidden in a laundry cart so he could go unnoticed on his way to board a ship to America, the land of the free. (Pogroms: a series of organized massacres targeting Jewish communities)
My children’s paternal great-grandparents who perished in concentration camps.
And finally….. the image of a grotesque, gaping wound flooded my awareness – the wound of racism, bigotry, violence and hatred that I struggled to hide for much of my...
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