Posts in Tag

mental health

*Note: This post was shared on another platform I write for a couple weeks ago. I hope you enjoy this re-share. I’m not shy about sharing my mental health experiences because I don’t believe mental illness should be stigmatized. Stigma stands in the way of progress. It prevents understanding and limits access in varied situations. Stigma also breeds fear. An example is the way popular media has applied the idea of “bad” to specific religious practices or groups, vilifying them in the public eye. What I’m saying is it’s important

The Honeyed Quill has been both reservoir and oasis for me as I launched myself. I have always written. Writing is my one true constant. Even when I am not putting the words down, I still compose them. There have been long stretches where I thought I wasn’t writing only to discover I had been all along (and often gems I later publish after discovering them within my grocery lists). I find this amusing, this idea that I would ever NOT be writing, even when writing hurts or scares me. And

Some notes: The U.S. presidential election has me feeling trapped and is bringing up a lot of bad memories. I’ve been on the lookout for good things, lights to focus on to prevent my world view being cast in darkness. I have a lot of slow brain days. Those are days when I can’t see my way out of the fog. I struggle to get simple tasks done. I lose my keys in the fridge and I forget where the cold food is kept. These tend to fall in quick succession. There is

I spent weeks wondering who you are. The domino days have struck in toppling distance. We are skipping on our own ideas Two players: the self and the shadow, an off-board game of Hot Lava. I never know where to land when I can see us both –in you or near you? Duality of self is curious; I find me on the mosquito side of the wooden screen door. I watch myself drawing identity –that four syllable path to the soul piece–from the basket of the unclothed mind. Shadows and worries danced in the lily-bright fields of the wedge-wheel sun. ~~~ This

I am a writing coach who teaches expressive writing for release and recovery. My classes and retreats are geared toward trauma survivors, many of whom are managing multiple mental illnesses. When Amanda Lauren wrote that it was better her friend died rather than continue her battle with schizo-affective disorder, I along with the rest of the internet was outraged. But this isn’t about her ableist and harmful essay (which has been retracted by xoJane and replaced with a too-little-too-late apology). This is about Lauren’s followup statement to Daily Dot in which

I have written my body with many voices. I have written it sideways and from underneath. I have recorded it from the outside while shuddering at what is inside. I have recorded from the inside while shuddering at my outside. I know myself, my scars, the physical and emotional layers I carry. I mourn what is lost and mull over what is gained. Rarely  have I viewed my body with joy. How can I love my body with all it has been through? How, when I have been taught by

It’s been far too long since I put together a #LinkYourLife roundup. This one is going to be double the fun because you will be linked to The Honeyed Quill and On the Verge. Shareen has become my #LinkYourLife partner, and she’s really good at it. How many of you shared on Friday because she reached out to you? Go ahead, raise your hands. Yep, that’s what I thought. Now, not every link is shared in this roundup. I snatched as many as I could, but #LinkYourLife has grown considerably

Self-care is a critical component of any trauma writing practice, but in order to implement self-care, you must first know your triggers. So, what is a trigger? A trigger is something that sets off a memory tape or flashback transporting the person back to the event of her/his original trauma. Triggers are very personal; different things trigger different people. The survivor may begin to avoid situations and stimuli that she/he thinks triggered the flashback. She/he will react to this flashback, trigger with an emotional intensity similar to that at the

As Winter approaches, I am discovering the strength of my relationship with light. Winter is the season of quiet. Leaves have long since fallen from the trees, life is slowing, and the daylight is capped by late and early calls for sleep. While the ground has not yet hardened with cold, I feel the same foreboding that arrives every Winter. I am lost. I am trapped. I must wait, clawing at the ceilings as I search desperately for sunlight. In Summer, you will find me outside, face upturned during the

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