EMDR Therapy Phase 2.5: Honoring a Wider Context for Enhanced Preparation by Jamie Marich, Ph.D., LPCC-S, LICDC-CS, REAT, RYT-200
As an EMDR educator, people are constantly asking me what I think of the latest trend in EMDR therapy. In the last year or so, Phillip Manfield’s Flash Technique has become all the rage. My students will tell you that I am not easily impressed by the latest spin on the standard protocol or twists on time-honored strategies for resourcing and regulating affect. I’ve long maintained that if you learn the standard protocol well and have a sense of how to mindfully modify with respect to special populations, dissociation, complex trauma, and the art of embodied resourcing, you have what you need. To be clear, I do not oppose use of the Flash Technique if it makes sense to the therapist using it and the technique helps the client. I also want to make my assessment clear that the Flash Technique, like many other trends that have captivated the attention of EMDR practitioners, is not a panacea or a quick fix. Indeed, it can prepare more complex clients for full reprocessing. Yet Flash is not the fullness of complete reprocessing and it is not a substitute for EMDR Phases 3-6. Indeed, there are many other strategies, especially from the tradition of embodied mindfulness, which can also engender more active preparation for reprocessing. Explaining my assessment of flash in this larger context led me and several colleagues on the Institute for Creative Mindfulness faculty to coin the term EMDR Phase 2.5.
Interventions that are more robust than traditional EMDR therapy preparation (Phase 2) that get a client fully ready to handle the affect that may emerge in Phases 3-6 belong in this critical middle ground. Many others and I have long taught that in working with complex trauma and indeed with most clients, doing one Calm Safe Place exercise is grossly insufficient. While the popularity of Resource Development and Installation or RDI (Korn & Leeds, 2002) and Resource Tapping (Parnell, 2008) inspired EMDR therapists to expand their scope on how to conceptualize preparation, many trauma-focused EMDR clinicians see that there are still other needs to be addressed. Namely, how do we help clients not just to stop, pause, or return to equilibrium when they abreact or when a session is due for closure; rather, how do we help prepare them for intensity? The intensity of affect release and shift that can help EMDR therapy to be so effective can also make it so scary for clients who have long been phobic of both affect and mindfulness.
This phobia of both affect and mindfulness develops as a legitimate response to unhealed trauma and dissociation (Forner, 2019), especially if a person was imprinted with negative cognitions such as: “I cannot show my emotions,” “It’s not safe to show my emotions,” “Showing emotions makes me weak,” among others (Marich, 2011; Marich & Dansiger, 2018). I’ve long taught trainees that even though their tendency may be to get nervous when a preparation skill like Calm Safe Place or container doesn’t seem to work, the client is still getting something valuable out of the exercise if you handle it well. These traditional preparation skills, if you follow the textbook, are supposed to bring about pleasant and resource-worthy experiences. Yet if they “go bad,” you now have an opportunity to guide a client through an experience in distress tolerance. For me, teaching a client that they can sit with unpleasant experiences for a time and/or use other resources to shift the focus is the best possible preparation skill that we can give clients in advance of moving into the reprocessing Phases (3-6) where discomfort will happen. For me, this is the essence of EMDR therapy Phase 2.5.
Our program and my approach to EMDR therapy is known for its focus on mindfulness. While Dr. Shapiro herself was a practitioner of mind-body healing modalities and studied with renowned west coast meditation teacher Stephen Levine, many EMDR therapists are not sufficiently grounded in the fundamentals of mindfulness and embodiment. Having these fundamentals is just as important, if not more important, than knowing an advanced preparation technique like Flash. Especially because Flash is not full-proof; many students and consultants have reported to us that it can “go bad” or open up into full reprocessing before a client is ready. As my colleague Dr. Stephen Dansiger and I explain in our 2018 book EMDR Therapy and Mindfulness for Trauma-Focused Care, the standard EMDR protocol is filled with invitations to mindful awareness. Use of questions like what are you noticing now? (Phase 4), when you scan your body from head-to-toe, what are you noticing? (Phase 6) and prompts like Go with that give us all the evidence we need that Shapiro developed EMDR therapy in a mindfulness context. Often defined as the practice of coming back to non-judgmental awareness, many have posited that mindfulness is one of the potential mechanisms of action in EMDR’s success (Logie, 2014; Shapiro, 2018). Yet if the first time a client is asked to be mindful or embodied is during their first run through the protocol, it may be too late.
As Christine Forner (2019) explains in her brilliant new article on connections between dissociation and mindfulness, dissociation is essentially a state of missing mindfulness. Mindfulness is about connection and dissociation is about surviving disconnection. Thus, many individuals who have spent their entire lives dissociating are literally phobic of mindfulness, and in the standard EMDR protocol we are asking them to be both mindful and embodied. This request is not necessarily a bad thing because learning to be mindful and processing mindfully is a major component of what can help us heal. As EMDR practitioners, we must do a better job of preparing clients for what the standard protocol expects.
Mindful and embodied EMDR therapy preparation requires more than just reading a script out of a book on mindfulness or showing a client a video. While I make several video resources in this area available online, I urge that EMDR practitioners must have a personal grounding in mindful and embodied practices to help clients deal with difficulties when the scripts don’t flow as planned for the client. Complex trauma and dissociation is messy and while we can do our best to give you a step list of what to follow for teaching these skills, drawing from your own personal experiences will help you to respond in the moment and guide clients through distress tolerance as safely as possible. In the Institute for Creative Mindfulness curriculum, we teach trainees to offer skills in all of these areas as part of Phase 2 preparation:
While we are not alone as a training program in teaching this widened scope, we see active exploration of these resources and the problems that they can bring up for the client as real opportunities to work with distress tolerance and engage in EMDR Phase 2.5. If a skill “goes bad,” we work with it to help a person notice the affect it creates or return to the present moment from any shut down that it caused. If a client protests, “I can’t do it,” we ask them how we might be able to modify a skill, which can include shortening the length of time that we spend in a skill.
A particularly strong skill from the mindfulness tradition that, in my view, should be taught by every EMDR therapist as part of EMDR Phase 2.5 is Mindfulness of Feeling Tone. Mindfulness of Feeling Tone is the second of four primary foundations of mindfulness. In this meditation, we ask the client to bring up their present-moment experience, scan the body briefly, and ask them if what they are noticing is pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Too often we have to orient clients to the language of what are you noticing now and if you’re doing it once they are activated in Phases 3-4, it’s too late. Many of our clients lack the vocabulary and practice with feeling or sensation to begin to even answer this question. This exercise is an elementary yet vital start to the process for it gives them three words to start with that are similar to the EMDR therapy constructs of adaptive, maladaptive, and neutral. You can take Mindfulness of Feeling Tone a step further by deliberately asking a client to bring up some association they would describe as pleasant and then guide them through noticing how they experience pleasant in the body. Do the same thing for unpleasant, which will be more challenging, yet ultimately more preparatory for what is to come in later Phases of EMDR Therapy. They don’t have to sit with the unpleasant experience forever; thirty seconds may suffice. Then you can move on to neutral and if needed, shift back to pleasant, strengthening that adaptive resource with DAS/BLS if appropriate. To watch a video demonstration of me guiding this exercise, please click HERE.
A resource such as Mindfulness of Feeling Tone is similar to the processes of titration and pendulation that Peter Levine actively calls upon in his creation, Somatic Experiencing®. I’ve trained many individuals well-schooled in both Somatic Experiencing and Sensorimotor Psychotherapy® and indeed one of the biggest criticisms they have of EMDR therapy is that we can blast a client in too quickly to the heart of the trauma without easing them into it using processes like titration and pendulation. Titration calls for a slowing down and only working on small pieces of a trauma at a time and then retreating into resources. While this process may go against what many EMDR therapists believe, stringently following Shapiro’s (2018) teaching that “preparation is not processing,” (p.36) I argue that for some complex clients titration is warranted. To me, this is where the Flash Technique is filling a gap in enhanced EMDR therapy preparation. For many years I have addressed this gap, if it appears with a client, by asking them what part of a target memory are they willing to work on first, even if it’s not necessarily the image or worst part. If needed, in the spirit of titration, we retreat into resources and then go back into this gentle test of processing. Sometimes the process of going with what we set up leads us to the worst part, other times it does not and we have to go back and set up the target again to address the worst image or worst part. My modification is another example of an EMDR Phase 2.5 that can lead into full Phase 3-4 that may be appropriate for complex clients. Yet in and of itself, the modification would be incomplete for optimal resolution of the memory.
The Flash Technique also seems to be helpful in the process of pendulation. Levine describes pendulation as the shifting of body sensations or emotions between those of expansion and those of contraction (Levine, 1997; Payne, Levine, &Crane-Godreau, 2015). A key principle of pendulation as practiced in Somatic Experiencing® is that a resilient nervous system is one that can move back and forth between alertness/action and calm/rest without getting caught in the extremes. Pendulation invites a fluctuation between resourced states and activated states as a mechanism for training our nervous system, which can help with long-term integration.
The Flash Technique, as described in this wonderful review by Ricky Greenwald (2017) (click HERE for the link), resonates for me as a practice of pendulation. This makes the Flash Technique a more robust form of EMDR preparation and thus meets my classification of it as EMDR Phase 2.5. I have long felt that EMDR therapists have much we can learn and integrate from Somatic Experiencing® and Sensorimotor Psychotherapy® and I believe that Manfield has given us a way to bring in some of these ideas, especially through the visual channel.
However, Flash Technique is not the only way to prepare our clients more effectively for the intense affect and embodied shifts that will inevitably happen once EMDR Phases 3-6 commence. Some of the mindfulness and embodiment skills that I covered in this article are a mere overview of what EMDR therapists can learn to more effectively prepare clients. I’ve long admired that the flexibility of EMDR therapy Phase 2 allows practitioners to bring in other modalities or approaches that they feel can strengthen the skills a client acquires in preparation. On my team, in addition to traditional mindfulness work, my faculty members and I make use of yoga, dialectical behavior therapy, expressive arts therapy, 12-step strategies, well-established work like Seeking Safety®, and creative interventions offered to us by other leaders in the EMDR therapy community like Jim Knipe and Ana Gomez.
All of these strategies are available to you and to your clients! Learning them and implementing may not feel as simple as reading a script or following a simple set of steps. I know that many EMDR therapists want these steps spelled out and this is natural for adult learners. However, it seems that every few years I talk to therapists who get caught up in the latest trend without learning the context that surrounds it and this is problematic. Even more problematic is if practitioners believe that the latest thing will replace their need to do other, more comprehensive resourcing. There are no short cuts in EMDR therapy; it takes hard work and personal commitment to become fluent and responsive. Committing to the expansion of your skill set using some of the other strategies we described here and your own personal practice with many of these skills means that you will excel at working in EMDR Phase 2.5!
Please, let’s make this an active blog. Share in your comments if this “2.5” concept resonates with you and what you have done to foster this level of preparation other than using the Flash Technique. I look forward to hearing from you.
Special thanks to Institute for Creative Mindfulness team members Amber Stiles-Bodnar, Dr. Stephen Dansiger, Suzanne Rutti, Adam O’Brien, Ramona Skriiko and several others for their contributions to this piece.
Forner, C. (2019). What mindfulness can learn from dissociation and dissociation can learn from mindfulness. Journal of Trauma & Dissociation, 20(1), 1-15.
Greenwald, R. (2017). Flash! Trauma therapy just got easier and faster. Trauma Institute & Child Trauma Institute Blog. 28 November 2017, available at www.childtrauma.com/blog/flash/
Korn, D., & Leeds, A. (2002). Preliminary evidence of efficacy for EMDR resource development and installation in the stabilization phase of treatment of complex post traumatic stress disorder. Journal of Clinical Psychology, 58, 1465–1487.
Levine, P. (1997). Waking the tiger: Healing trauma. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books.
Logie, R. (2014). EMDR- more than just a therapy for PTSD? The Psychologist- The British Psychologist Society, 27 (512-517).
Marich, J. (2011). EMDR made simple: Four approaches to using EMDR with every client. PESI Publishing (Premiere): Eau Claire, WI.
Marich, J. & Dansiger, S. (2018). EMDR therapy & mindfulness for trauma-focused care. New York: Springer Publishing Company.
Parnell, L. (2008). Tapping in: A step-by-step guide to activating your healing resources through bilateral stimulation. Boulder, CO: Sounds True Books.
Payne, P., Levine, P., & Crane-Godreau, M. (2015). Somatic experiencing: Using interoception and proprioception as core elements of trauma therapy. Frontiers in Psychology, 4 February 2015, DOI: https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2015.00093
Shapiro, F. (2018). Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing: Basic principles, protocols, and procedures, 3rd ed.New York: The Guilford Press.
In the summer of 2000, I set out on my first proper backpacking tour of Central and Eastern Europe. For six weeks I would be visiting all of these historical places that I studied about for years, and I was ill-prepared! The cheap $20 rolling duffle bag with pieces of things pretending to be straps just would not do, especially on the trains. During my first stop—Prague—I saw how much easier it was for other young travelers to navigate the trains having proper backpacks. So at my next stop—Krakow—I found an outdoor shop and paid $80 for my first real backpack. She was amazing! Blue with black trimming, she was so easy to pack, and so wonderful to carry on the trains. I feel like she opened up the world for me and the possibilities in it even wider. For the next nineteen years, she would literally help me carry the baggage of my life and my transformation.
The word “baggage” has taken on an interesting emotional connotation in modern times. My mother always warned me not to date a guy with “baggage.” By the time I got to my mid-thirties, I was brave enough to respond, “Um…mother, I got quite a bit of my own baggage by now.” There’s even a Game Show Network series called Baggage hosted by none other than Jerry Springer where dating show contestants evaluate each other by whether or not they can live with each other’s baggage. And as a trauma therapist I’ve long helped people come to terms with their baggage, a word they often use for the burdens they carry. Sometimes I help them to shed the load that’s weighing them down and other times I help them to make peace with their past and how they carry it. Using the backpacker’s metaphor, sometimes we just need to get a more efficient piece of luggage.
Recent events prompted me into some deep introspection about baggage and all of its metaphors and meanings. I am currently on a one-month tour of the U.K., teaching and writing. When I got to the airport, I noticed that one of the last two functional buckles holding my old girl together had cracked and broken. Over the years everything that once made the old girl an ideal backpack went bad—the waist buckle, the chest strap, some chords and zippers. The two back straps were still intact which made her still okay to use. And suddenly that was no longer the case. I checked in at Cleveland for my flight to London. Yet trying to haul a month’s worth of gear into London city from the airport with a broken backpack was exhausting. I gave her one more go as I proceeded up to Scotland last week and the strain wreaked havoc on my shoulder and back. Knowing that there was no way to fix or to replace the buckle, it was time to lay her to rest and get a new pack.
I was surprised at how difficult that was for me. I’m not really the type to get attached to material things, yet there I was, attachment sick over literal baggage.
“Wow, Buddha would have a field day with this,” I snickered.
The old girl was different. She carried me through the healing journey of the second nineteen years that sought to unravel the confusion and pain that tangled me up in the first twenty. Setting out to travel the world was a major component in my recovery for it showed me new perspectives and different energies. When I ended up moving to Europe for three years in November 2000, I carried everything I needed in the old girl. She came with me on every international trip that followed as I connected with these lost pieces of myself.
When I walked into the outdoor shop in Inverness, Scotland, I reflected on just how far that 20-year-old girl who walked into a similar shop in Krakow had traveled. Two marriages come and gone, sobriety, a doctorate, seven books written, a successful business established, major mental health relapses healed and still healing, coming out in various ways, a story of transformation still in process… Most importantly, we’ve achieved liberation by connecting to the certainly of who we really are and what we stand for—we are total and yet continually evolving towards wholeness. Traveling, embracing the journey—both literal and metaphorical—brought me these gifts.
And now the time had come to get a more functional, efficient pack for the next nineteen years and beyond. When Mark, the lovely salesman in Inverness, explained all of the features on the state-of-the-art red Osprey pack I was privileged enough to buy, my first response was, “But the pouches on the new pack aren’t like the old one—I liked that feature better!” I chuckled at myself—realizing how it’s so easy for all of us to do that during the change process. Without a doubt my new pack is better for my body, contoured for a larger woman’s back and hips and full of efficient features. This new pack is 15 gallons smaller than the old girl, which will force me to pack more efficiently. That’s probably a good thing! I knew in that moment that as attached as I can get to the things I’ve gotten used to, they may no longer be what serves me the best presently.
I’ve learned to travel lighter in the last nineteen years, both literally and metaphorically, and this adjustment certainly helps. I am also a human being struggling to make sense of attachment and heal or release the storylines I carry. In trauma focused therapy, working with attachment is a topic du jour. As an EMDR therapy trainer, I often entertain questions on how well our curriculum can help trainees to work with attachment trauma. While it’s clear that many people with complex trauma were severely wounded in early childhood by the caretakers with whom they should have formed healthy attachment, I’ve never felt that repairing attachment is the entire answer. As a mindfulness-focused EMDR program committed to East-West integration, detachment is just as important. I heartily believe the Buddha’s teaching that attachment or clinging is one of the three main causes of suffering. Yet we are human and healthy attachment is a legitimate need—so how do I reconcile this one, Buddha? Contemplating this question in meditation has taught me that acceptance and letting go are vital to the change process. We can do this at the same time as we grieve the childhood we needed and never received. We can also bring healing to the younger, wounded parts that may still live inside of us, modeling healthy attachment for them. Letting go of the storylines and the attachments that no longer serve us in the present is paramount. Letting go clears the path for healing at all levels.
I ended up letting go of the old girl in my hotel room in Scotland with a note for hotel staff to do what they saw fit. It felt appropriate laying her to rest on the international road, especially in a place as magical as Scotland. I was also blessed to stumble upon a teaching from de-cluttering guru Marie Kondo during the days I wrote in Scotland. She advises, “Have gratitude for the things you're discarding. By giving gratitude, you're giving closure to the relationship with that object, and by doing so, it becomes a lot easier to let go.”
I don’t think I’ve ever read anything so wise and so applicable for people on any path of recovery. Gratitude is a quality of recovery that directly helps us to let go of unhealthy or unserving attachments, yet in modern times gratitude can become so difficult to practice. We are socialized, especially in the West, to focus on what we don’t have instead of celebrating what we do. Further, practicing gratitude can feel impossible especially when you’ve been so hurt and so wronged by life and the people in it. Hopefully this will not block you from at least giving the practice of gratitude a try in your process of letting go and lightening the load.
I thanked the old girl vocally before I left the room that day, and writing this article is a way of publicly offering my thanks. Yes, it’s to an object, yet think of how much this wisdom can also help us let go of the so-called “baggage” from our past that weighs us down—memories, shame-based scripts, unhealthy coping skills, and the impact of wounding relationships. We can thank those things and those people for the role that they played for us at the time. Even the horrible stuff—if you are willing, thank it for its role in bringing you to where you are today, hopefully on the precipice of a major shift in your continued healing and recovery.
I chant to a monkey.
No really, I do. I chant to a monkey.
There was a time in my life where I never would have put this out there in public, especially as a young professional afraid of being labeled as too fringe or hippy-dippy. The time is now to out myself: Every night for the last year I’ve chanted a 16th century hymn from the Hindu tradition called The Hanuman Chalisa. As a monkey, Hanuman is seen as a bridge between the wisdom of the animal world and the human world. As a symbol for breath, he is the bridge that unifies feminine energy and masculine consciousness. Many devotees of Lord Hanuman engage in this chant as a daily practice; it would be similar to those with great devotions to St. Francis singing any version of a Prayer of St. Francis hymn daily. And I’ve been known to sing to him too. Plus, I pray an Our Father and Hail Mary every morning—in Croatian (my family’s ancestral language)—do Japa meditation (prayer beads), practice yoga in various ways, read from my 12-step meditation books and pray some of those prayers. Those are just my daily practices! On any given week I may also consult with my Ayurvedic clinician, see my expressive arts therapist and spiritual director over Skype, or saunter up to Buffalo for some of my own EMDR therapy. And then there’s the penchant I have for receiving bodywork and energy work…shall I go on?
There is a very important reason why I am going here, letting the weirdness of my daily and other regular practices shine out so directly. These practices help me to stay mentally healthy, especially in being able to navigate the judgment and cruelty of the world at large. In the last several years, and with increasing frequency lately, many friends, students, and folks I mentor have shared with me their concerns about being perceived as too weird. Whether it’s a feeling of self-consciousness about their cleaning regimens, their spiritual practices, or having ways of seeing the world that may clash with the mainstream, people can viciously judge themselves based on the fear of how others will respond. In a recent conversation about weirdness and perception, I blurted out the “I chant to a monkey” response. I’ve found this phrase to be such an empowering anthem that I now use it when clients, students and folks I train come to me with a hesitancy to share, fearing how I will perceive them.
“I chant to a monkey… try me.”
For many of us who have survived the trenches of academia or currently hold a professional license as a clinician, the fear of being persecuted for our weirdness or differentness has merit. I and many others in the Dancing Mindfulness community could fill a whole book of horror stories documenting how professors and other colleagues have treated us for taking an interest in Eastern meditation, embodied practices, and anything that is outside of the talk therapy, medical model norm. In essence, we are the weird ones for going back and reclaiming the merits of ancient healing systems and endeavoring to make them work for modern clients, students, and practitioners. Not creative, not integrative…weird.
The professional standards committee of my state’s licensure board has challenged me as an educator three times for offering programs in the area of dance, mindfulness, expressive arts therapy, and yoga. Of course, I’ve been able to support their merit, with literature, of offering such programs for clinicians who will pass the valuable learning on to clients who are desperately needing more than what the field has been giving them. Yet every time I presented before the committees, I have had to address the issues coming up for me about them labeling me as too weird or flaky. Like many of us, my wounding around weird goes back to family of origin baggage and getting bullied by peers in elementary school for being the oddball. Of course, the board challenges made me angry and even sad at first.
Then I learned to embrace the challenge to calmly show them that there is another way to exist as a professional in our field. This involved a great deal of time and effort cleaning out and healing my old stuff and drawing inspiration from the monkey I chant to, Hanuman—be a bridge. Don’t be afraid to be yourself, especially with others who get your weirdness. If someone you work with or interact with in life needs to see an example of weird as healthy and functional, show it. Yet when working with the mainstream of any given field, a good deal of translation may be required. This is always possible when you are not ashamed of who you really are and know how your weirdness (and all the oddities and rituals that may come with it) helps you live and hopefully even thrive in this world.
In working with my latest expressive arts student to have the weirdness conversation with me, some wisdom from the Croatian language struck me like a bolt of lightning. The Croatian word for weird or strange (čudan) and the Croatian word for miracle (čudo) come from the same root. Both imply something supernatural or out of the ordinary. Yet we can think of a miracle as being a gift and weirdness as being a curse. What if we started to view them as one in the same? Would more of us feel comfortable coming out as weird, or more widely acknowledge that we all do some pretty weird things? Can I learn to embrace my weirdness for what it is—a miraculous gift that helps me to see the world in a way that we need in order to smash existing paradigms and bring about some deep healing?
Whenever someone I mentor professionally expresses fear about being perceived as too weird, I take pride in telling them that they are not alone and that there are others of us who feel similarly. One time I referred to the Dancing Mindfulness community as the island of misfit therapists, and that’s a descriptor I use proudly to this day. Connect with the other weirdos out there and before long you may even learn to see yourself as a trailblazer who is in an amazing position to liberate others from the confines of judgment and condemnation in which they find themselves. If you can be proud of your weirdness as a professional of any kind, imagine how inspirational you can be to the people you serve. If more of us learned to embrace the weirdness that we are in our daily lives, regardless of what we do or where we live, that would truly be miraculous, and it will take such a miracle to heal the world.
I chant to a monkey… what of it?
Risks are fucking scary. Even a cursory glance at the most banal dictionary app’s definition makes my spine shudder: to expose oneself to the chance of injury or loss; a hazard or dangerous chance. In contemplating a massive risk that I recently decided to take in my own life, I found myself saying, “I fear death less than I fear giving this a chance, even though my gut and my spiritual practice suggests that I’ll regret it if I don’t take the risk.” When I stepped back, I realized the gravity of such a statement. How is it that my journey has allowed me to become so comfortable with my own death, yet so scared of many aspects of my life?
I travel quite a bit for work—I’m on a plane anywhere from 2-3 times a month and I regularly deal with questions from family members asking if I ever get scared traveling so much, especially internationally.
“No, not at all,” I answer, without reservation or fail.
Maybe it comes as no surprise that I have a recurring dream about dying in a plane crash. Perhaps it’s because, with the nature of my life, dying in such a way is a possibility. Yet I always wake up even more excited to travel. Having this dream about 4-5 times a year has never once made me scared of flight. Indeed, they usually make me more excited to see the world. The most powerful version of my recurring dream gave me some insight as to why.
The dreaming state taught me the lesson on the night of the Tree of Life synagogue massacre in Pittsburgh, PA (October 27, 2018). Although I was away teaching in Montana, I went to bed with a heavy heart because of my many ties to the community of Squirrel Hill where the tragedy happened. At some point that day, in talking with a friend, I even uttered in frustration, “Is trying to make a difference doing the things we do even worth it?” And the dream delivered the answer.
I was on a flight sitting next to two veterans who had recently been in Iraq. I was not clear on my destination in the dream, although very likely it was work-related. A few minutes after take-off, as I turned off my music and began to reach for a book, the plane began to take a deep dive. There were screams and wails all around me and I heard one of the veterans say, “Here we go.”
They knew what was coming, and then so did I.
I closed my eyes and surrendered my life over to spirit in a way I never had. I don’t recall the impact because shortly after closing my eyes, I just went blank in the most effortless way imaginable.
A short while later the dream continued. I found myself in a holding space, some type of hangar, with others who died in the crash. I learned that 10 survived and 300 of us perished, mostly from smoke inhalation as we tried to get out. I had some vague thoughts about my best friend Allie and many of my other friends being there to carry on my business, although they fleeted quickly. Instead, I became enraptured by the kinship I experienced with the others in that sacred space. We all started moving towards a ladder at the other end of the hangar.
One-by-one, people started to climb the ladder. A beautiful Indian woman adorned in a gold scarf was in front of me in the line.
She turned back to me and said, “I don’t know if this is the most appropriate thing to say right now but—wow! Wasn’t that the most powerful blast of shakti (energy) ever! That crash was amazing!”
I smiled, knowing exactly what she meant.
“Yup, I get it. I’ve never been so relaxed in my whole life. Pure peace.”
We laughed, kept climbing the ladder, and she said, “So let’s get ready to do this thing again…knowing what we know now.”
“Let’s do it again!,” I responded.
I awoke the next morning with the clearest understanding of karma ever—the chance to do it over again with all the visceral knowledge of what we learned the time before. The chance to make it right. In my case, the chance to surrender into life’s divine flow instead of letting it devour me in fear. The most obvious interpretation of my dream suggests that my death and subsequent transition to the next cycle of rebirth will give me that chance. Yes, such an interpretation is in my personal belief system. And yet when my feet hit the ground to engage in my morning practices in preparation for teaching, I knew that message was meant for me in this lifetime.
What if, Pragya, you could surrender into the uncertainties of life with the same degree of unconditional faith and peacefulness that you accepted your death in the plane crash? What if, every time you were presented with a chance to start over knowing what you know now, you could embrace it with the enthusiasm of let’s do it again!? The same way a faith-filled, resilient child who just fell off of their bicycle might, eager to try once more, equipped with the spirit of their new learning? What if you could embrace each new day with the wisdom of what you have learned and with the faith of what you cannot possibly know?
My intention in this next season of my life is to say yes—resoundingly, enthusiastically, and faithfully to all of these questions. This intention is becoming my daily prayer, as my practices help me to integrate all of these pearls into the grand process of living. Yes, I will relax into the uncertainties of life with faith and peace. Yes, I will meet my new opportunities with a spirit of let’s do it again, releasing the burdens of my past. Yes, I will approach life with the beginner’s mind of a resilient child and yes—I will greet each new day fortified with the wisdom of what I have learned while also approaching it with faith of and in the unseen.
On the Monday after Thanksgiving eighteen years ago, I ran away to Europe. My addiction and untreated emotional problems left me in a state of chronic suicidal contemplation. Every time I used drugs and drank that autumn, I hoped that I wouldn’t wake up. There was nowhere I could really turn for help without being met with answers like, “Just go back to church,” or “Tough it out, you’re too smart for all of this.” Something that I can only describe as a shimmer of clarity woke me up on Black Friday with a clear message: Go to Europe.
The few months I’d spent backpacking through Central and Eastern Europe earlier that year were some of the happiest times in my life to that point. Moreover, getting to connect with my Croatian relatives that summer and in the two previous years I spent traveling and studying in my ancestral homeland was like finding a part of myself I’d been desperate to meet. So over what remained of Thanksgiving weekend I made the arrangements—got my money out of savings, bought a cheap ticket to Prague with the intention of taking the train further south to Croatia and then Hercegovina, and wrote letters explaining to the people in my life that I needed to leave to be okay. I took the gamble, left that Monday, and stayed for almost three years.
I recently recounted the story to one of my oldest and dearest friends. He said in reply, “Jamie, stop saying you ran away to Europe. You moved to Europe.”
I chuckled and sighed when I heard his reframe. Indeed, everything truly wonderful that happened to me—especially finding my recovery and my life’s vocational path—was a direct result of taking that risk to move. In the English language the concept of motivation comes from the Latin word meaning “to move.” So, the very concept of being motivated is rooted in movement. And we don’t give movement (and all the ways we can engage it) enough credit in the change process.
In recovery circles we can be quick to condemn the so-called geographic cure, or the notion that just changing locations is the magic bullet that will make all of your problems disappear. Of course, you take yourself with you wherever you go, and if nothing changes inside then nothing will change overall. Some people would describe what I did by moving to Europe as a geographical cure in the pejorative sense. Even when I share my lead or qualification at a 12-step speaker meeting sometimes I tease myself about it. Janet Leff—my very wise first sponsor and fellow humanitarian aid worker who I met while living in Europe—once made a powerful distinction.
She offered: “Sometimes it’s necessary to make a change—change jobs, change relationships, change cities. We have to ask ourselves though, are we running away from something or running towards something better? Like recovery, our self-dignity, an opportunity that’s better for us and our growth?”
These questions are useful for all of us in recovery as we contemplate making changes, especially if those around us try to shame us for our choices. When I reflect back on those moments in the Fall of 2000, there is no doubt that moving myself in the most radical way possible was needed in order to survive. When I arrived back in Croatia and then to Bosnia-Hercegovina where I settled, I struggled a great deal. It was certainly no geographic cure! I thought that church was the only answer at first and that working for the Catholic Church (which I did) would save me. I thought that I could still drink like a fish and hang out with men who weren’t good for me, as long as I wasn’t popping pills.
And then 12-step recovery found me in the person of Janet Leff, who first befriended me and then asked me to translate a recovery council meeting in the local community for her one day. This powerful system of help, which was devised in my home state of Ohio, found me in the hills of Hercegovina in the years following a brutal civil war in that region. Janet, whose story I tell more fully in Trauma and the Twelve Steps (2012), was there to answer all of my questions I struggled to piece together about my life in chemicals and my emotional demons. A retired clinical social worker, Janet was the first person to give me the framework of unhealed trauma as the main explanation for my mental health and addiction concerns. Because of her commitment to carry a message of recovery to others and lead by example in her life, I’ve been continuously sober since July 2002. There are not enough words to express my gratitude to her and the cosmic flow that brought me to her.
The other layer to this story is how my move to Europe impacted my professional development. If you’re reading this blog on the Institute for Creative Mindfulness site, chances are that you’ve taken a training with me, have read one of my books, or have worked with me in some capacity. What I do today is a direct result of the seeds that Janet and others planted during my work there from 2001-2003. When I moved to Europe, I was starting a graduate degree in history; I took two psychology courses in my undergraduate studies and hated them! So, when both Janet and the priest who was my immediate supervisor suggested that I go to graduate school for clinical counseling, I laughed at them. Janet chuckled in response and said, “Trust me, you’ll be good at it.”
As I reflect back on this time in my life that set the course for the road ahead, I am grateful to be a mover in every sense of the word. Friendships that I made, some very deep, last to this day and continue to shape me. I learned for certain that the world is much bigger and full of wonder than the American bubble of success and failure in which I’d been raised to imprison myself, and there are parts of me to be found everywhere if I’m only brave enough to look. I pray every day that the work I do as I move about the world in the present time honors Janet’s memory.
To be a mover is to embrace a challenge with forward momentum, even if the temptation is to judge yourself as a coward for what may seem like running away. For you, moving halfway around the world may not be required. Although for change to happen, taking actionable steps in the direction of change is an imperative. Movement heals—a simple phrase I often teach in my Dancing Mindfulness expressive arts therapy work. Now, as I spend Thanksgiving weekend of 2018 clean, sober, and mostly sane on holiday in Slovenia and Croatia, two of the places that revived my spirit all those years ago, I realize the deeper truth in this simple teaching.
In memory of Janet Leff (1941-2017)
One of the great blessings of my life is to have a Jewish mother and a Jewish family in Squirrel Hill. When I heard the news of last week’s massacre at Tree of Life Synagogue in Squirrel Hill (the hub of Jewish life in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania), I was in Montana leading a clinical training in EMDR therapy, the trauma modality that brought Sharon Saul—my Jewish mother—and I together. Although the news revealed to me that the synagogue attacked was not Sharon’s, it is in close proximity to her home in a community that is very tightly knit. Until I was able to get to Squirrel Hill myself on Tuesday morning and give Sharon a hug, something was unsettled within me. Although Sharon and I remained in touch via text and telephone after she turned hers back on following Shabbat, seeing her was the balm my soul needed. In our communications, she relayed the multiple messages defining the vigils and prayers she attended: The answer to combating all of this hatred is to fight the darkness with light, and to increase our acts of goodness and kindness.
The connection that Sharon and I share is an example of how two very different people can unite in a spirit of goodness and kindness, which is why I feel led (with Sharon’s blessing) to share our story. On Thursday night we sat in her home, a place that's become a haven to me over the years when I offer trainings in Squirrel Hill (about an hour and a half from my home base in Ohio). We were both awestruck by the workings of HaShem in bringing us together. HaShem is a Hebrew name for G-d (literally meaning "The Name") that I’ve come to use in many of my references to Divine presence. Our friendship is, of course, a beautiful Institute for Creative Mindfulness story which is why I’m posting it on our blog. I hope others may also draw some inspiration from our message and our story.
I first met Sharon in Monroeville, Pennsylvania sometime in 2013. I was still working the national circuit for PESI, an educational company, teaching general trainings on trauma-informed care. In this 2-day course, presenting a live clinical demonstration in eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR), my method of choice for treating trauma-related concerns, was part of the syllabus. As I did dozens of times before and have done hundreds of time since in my teaching, I asked for a willing volunteer for the demonstration, inviting them to come up and see me over break for screening. This lovely, traditionally dressed woman raised her hand immediately. During our screening, as we talked about her background and the issue she’d like to work on, Sharon revealed that she is an Orthodox Jew. Although she seemed to be connecting to what I taught in the course, I experienced a bit of an internal struggle, wondering if someone so traditional would respond to what I had to offer. I’d long identified as rainbow flag-waving tattooed rebel dismissive of most things connected to organized religion or anything traditional. Yet something inside told me immediately that I loved this woman and her willingness, and I was delighted when Sharon responded so well to her work in the demonstration.
Afterwards, in amazement, Sharon declared, “I have to learn this!”
She went on to explain her frustration that every EMDR training she ever found took place over the weekend which would not work for her as an Orthodox Jew. Specifically, Sharon is a Hassidic Jew in the Chabad-Lubavitch movement with a strict adherence to Shabbat observance. Training over a weekend just wasn’t an option for her, even though other folks from religious traditions have missed weekend services before to come to trainings. Sharon began traveling to Ohio to learn from me as I developed my initial training models and ideas around teaching EMDR therapy, expressing only gratitude that she was able to engage in this study during the week and in a mindfully delivered, intuitive way that matched up with her almost forty years of experience as a hypnotherapist. The more she studied and consulted with me, the more I began to trust her as a clinician and to truly love her as a person. The questions she asked helped me to grow as a clinician, and I developed an even deeper sense of wonder about Jewish faith and traditions.
In 2015 when I became officially approved by the EMDR International Association to offer basic trainings in EMDR therapy, Sharon immediately courted me to come to Squirrel Hill where she practiced and lived. She said something like, “I can get you every Orthodox therapist in Pittsburgh to come to the training if you can offer it during the week.”
When one of Sharon’s colleagues first met me, I got the once over, punctuated with the commentary of, “You’re the Jamie, Sharon’s teacher? You’re so young!”
Although I’ve gotten my fair share of the “you’re so young,” comments throughout my career, this one did not impact me with any insult. Rather, it helped me to understand why I respect Sharon so much. She is constantly willing to learn something new, especially from those of us in the younger generations. I watch how her grandchildren teach her new ways of seeing the world, and I hope that I can emulate this spirit of hers to constantly be a learner as I grow up into the example she is setting. And although I started as her teacher, it’s safe to say that we have both been each others’ teachers as our friendship has grown.
Coming to Squirrel Hill to train was a good fit for all of us—for Sharon’s community of clinicians in the neighborhood and for the growing Institute for Creative Mindfulness wanting to establish a base in Pittsburgh. When I visited Squirrel Hill for the first time, some tears filled my eyes. There are moments here when I feel like I’m in Eastern Europe, where I spent a great deal of late teens and early twenties studying and working, primarily in my ancestral homelands of Croatia and Bosnia. There’s just something about the vibe of Squirrel Hill and its Jewish soul, beautifully blended with other cultural influences in the container of Pittsburgh, its own cultural wonder, the visceral epicenter of our region’s heartiness. Something magical happens here at this area around the intersection of Forbes and Murray Avenues. In the past three years I’ve adored working with the people of Squirrel Hill and I enjoy spending time here with both friends and Sharon’s family. Sharon has always taken great care to assure that a guest bedroom in her home that is set up to accommodate her large family for holidays is always ready for me when I come to town. I typically stay in one of the basement guest rooms and sleeping down there feels like I’m in a warm cave being blanketed by an entire house that’s full of tradition and love. I’ve said for several years now that Squirrel Hill is truly my second home.
Sharon has seven children and a slew of grandchildren (I can never keep count). I’ve had the privilege to get to know many of them and their spouses, including one of her sons who is now a budding therapist and has trained with me. I attended the wedding of her youngest son and considered it the greatest honor ever when Sharon began caring for me in a way that led her to declare, “I’m sorry, I can’t turn off the Jewish mother in me.” The first time is when we were leaving her house in Squirrel Hill—it was a rainy morning and we were crossing the street to my parked car, on our way to the training site. A car came unexpectedly whizzing down her street and she brought out the infamous “mom arm” to protect me. Later that year, Sharon and I roomed together at the EMDR International Association conference in Minneapolis. While I’ve enjoyed a wide array of roommate experiences as I’ve traveled for work over the years, Sharon’s attention to detail in making sure I didn’t forget things and that I had a sounding board for things going on at the conference warmed my heart. She once again said something like, “I can’t turn off the Jewish mother,” and I thought to myself, “Nor do I want you to.”
My entire life I’ve struggled with feeling accepted by the people closest to me, especially in my family of origin, because my beliefs and way of being in the world is so different from their traditional (Christian) views. Sharon’s acceptance of me, even as a religious woman, includes a full embrace of my soul and my questions, even when we disagree on certain approaches to life, faith, and identity. While I wish that more devout people from all faith traditions would learn from Sharon’s example of acceptance, knowing her gives me hope that the healing power of what St. Benedict called radical hospitality is possible. Sharon’s willingness to bring me around her family and feel the warmth of their friendliness and the candidness of their interactions with me—even though they are all religious and I am more of a liberal hippie, “spiritual but not religious” type makes me know in my bones that we all have more in common than not. Knowing Sharon Saul and having her as my Jewish Ima (mother) is nothing less than a corrective experience in attachment. And it’s restored my faith that getting to spend substantial time with people from faiths and cultures other than our own is a big part of the answer to bringing about the healing of the world.
So, it’s little wonder that I wanted Sharon to join our Institute for Creative Mindfulness team as both a consultant and a facilitator as soon as she was eligible. In the midst of this Squirrel Hill tragedy she referred to EMDR therapy as “God’s tool for healing,” and I cannot disagree! She is a fabulous educator and mentor and serves our EMDR trainees well. Sharon is responsible for building enthusiasm about EMDR therapy in Squirrel Hill, working very hard to find us good spaces to train during the week. So many of the therapists we have trained here are now on the front lines of working with the community this week and will be in the coming weeks as the people of this neighborhood seek answers and healing.
But even if Sharon didn’t work with me in this professional capacity, I would still want her to me my friend… and of course, my Jewish mother. Even in the midst of debriefing her own experience of this week’s tragedy with me, Sharon still offered me spiritually on point advice about my own love life and my career path, as any attuned mother would. As we sat together the other night in our moment of awe at the Divine dance that brought our lives together, it dawned on me that a friendship like ours and everything it represents is the answer to the madness in which we find ourselves in this modern world. This isn’t something, even as a writer, that I can put elegant syllables together to explain. I simply challenge you to experience it if HaShem ever gives you the chance, because HaShem will.
In her infinite, faith-filled, maternal wisdom Sharon declared, “HaShem, you have a view of the bigger picture. I trust you when I can only see the parts of that bigger tapestry.”
Sharon and I both had the opportunity to do trauma response work this week in Squirrel Hill and were amazed at how this tragedy is bringing other things to the surface for people that have long needed healed. This poses, once more, the age old question: Is tragedy’s hidden gift the sparking potential it holds to stir us into action, first within ourselves and then in our communities? The idea of changing the world can feel overwhelming and impossible, especially with the hopelessness and hatred that seemingly paralyzes our existence. Perhaps the real answer is to heal ourselves and then make a difference on a one-on-one relational level, as Sharon and I have done with each other. When the small pearls of these healings and interactions string together, we create a valuable and beautiful force that will transform the world.
After working together today at the Jewish Community Center here in Squirrel Hill Sharon continued with her teaching for me that began the night before on the importance of the bigger picture: “It just feels like the redemption really is at hand and all of us good people doing all the good we can and all the healing we can it’s our job to just tip it. It feels like we’re almost, almost, almost there.”
“I have to do what?!?”
My gut squelched as I voiced my protest in the form of this question. For years I yearned to take a full 200-hour yoga teacher training. Because of my hectic schedule with my own training work, arranging one never seemed possible. In the interim, I committed to taking many weekend modules in trauma-informed and recovery yoga, in addition to deepening my own practice. In 2015, I formally discovered the Amrit Yoga system developed by Yogi Amrit Desai, carrier of the Kripalu lineage to the United States. Having been invited to Amrit Yoga Institute (AYI) as a guest teacher in a recovery program, I immediately fell in love with the Integrated Amrit Method and knew that when the time came to take a full teacher training, it would be at AYI. Several amazing things fell into alignment and I was able to take the full 200-hour program in the Summer of 2018, split into two, ten-day modules. When I presented for the first module, my teachers informed me that when returning for the second module, I would be tested on the Amrit method script… and 70% compliance was required to pass!
After my initial question, more protestation flowed: “They can’t box me into a script!,” “I am anything but a scripted person, what the hell did I get myself into?!,” “I haven’t had to do this kind of rote learning since graduate school…what do they expect me to learn from this!?!” Then it dawned on me: the teaching methods employed by the AYI team are not too dissimilar from what I ask my eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) trainees to do. In EMDR therapy training, even in a system as mindfulness-infused as my own Institute for Creative Mindfulness curriculum, trainees are asked to stick to a script. In the heart of EMDR therapy, often referred to as the trauma reprocessing stages, the script is very precise as required by the EMDR International Association. While there is room to adapt in some of the other phases, we still ask our trainees to follow a prepared script as we have found this to be the most solid method for educating the majority of our adult trainees who pass through the program. A key difference is that I was being asked to memorize the Amrit Method script and we don’t expect memorization from our trainees, simply that they read from the prescribed script until it becomes second nature to them.
While my challenge felt slightly more difficult, I knew the process would allow me to step into the shoes of what I’ve been asking my trainees to do over the years. A key factor in what helped me to stay optimistic about learning the script is that I as the teacher was allowed to use my own words to teach what is called the second part of the pose in Amrit Yoga. The second part of the pose is the artistry—giving students the time to bask in the stillness of the pose after taking deliberate movement in the first part of the pose (what I had to memorize). A similar process occurs in learning EMDR therapy. There is room for bringing your own clinical judgment and artistry into the practice of EMDR; yet this ought to only come in the context of first assuring a solid technique in one’s set up.
In my several month process of studying on my own and then returning for the second module of intense practice before being tested, I threw every tantrum possible. In addition to the standard issue “I can’t do this” and “I’m incapable,” I found myself beginning to resent the yoga method that I really loved very much and credited with changing my life. I did not feel the same allegiance to Yogi Desai that many of my fellow students and teachers felt and the challenge to “respect his words and his language” didn’t particularly resonate. I did, however, resonate with an explanation given by a teacher that the scripted portion of the pose is designed for us to know how to get people into and out of poses safely. By learning time-tested language for this, the burden of having to grasp for optimal language was removed. As Kalindi, my small group mentor whom I resented many times during the process, taught: “When you don’t have to worry about the language you’re using, something Higher will come through.”
I fought the notion that using someone else’s words—granted words and concepts that I liked very much—would allow my Higher Self to come through in my teaching. By the end of the training process I realized that my dear Kalindi was right. The moment of realization didn’t even come when I took my exam. Although I got through it well and was even able to correct an error that I made with a reasonable degree of elegance, it was in our final class for the whole community that the magic happened. Each of us in our group got to teach a pose and at the relative last minute, I was assigned what I perceived to be one of the more difficult poses in the Amrit sequence: Warrior I. There are a lot of moving parts in the script for Warrior I even though this is a yoga pose I’ve practiced for almost a decade. Getting up in front of my entire cohort and other members of the community, I breathed into it and didn’t experience a shred of nerves. The pose just flowed through me and the experience in my body was one of the most powerful I ever felt as a teacher. And I teach for a living! By time the second part of the pose rolled around and I shared from the organic learning of my own practice, it clicked why Yogi Desai and the entire AYI team put me through this process. I felt a freedom within the structure, and it was glorious!
Throughout the process, and especially in that final class, I realized the power of why we have EMDR trainees learn from a script. For many years I bristled against this teaching methodology. Sure, I learned from the script when I did my own EMDR training in 2005-2006 because I had to. From that initial learning, I found myself resisting the technique of it and improvising a great deal. Much of this adaptation was clinically justified, artistic, and especially needed in serving the most complex clients whose processing work in EMDR therapy will not be very likely to follow a textbook flow. I had a fabulous early consultant who helped me to navigate the finesse around adaptation and modification. After I finished my consultation period, however, I was drawn to other approaches to EMDR therapy that were even more modified and less structured. There was a period of a few years where I taught and even advocated for many of these less structured approaches to EMDR therapy. In becoming an official EMDR trainer, a role that I resisted accepting for years out of fear that I wasn’t “technical” enough, I learned to fall in love with the scripts and the protocols of EMDR in a new way. I discovered that in working with the majority of adult learners that we serve, having the scripted core protocol as the base is the foundation from which a successful EMDR practice in built. As I discuss with my co-author Stephen Dansiger in my latest book EMDR Therapy and Mindfulness for Trauma-Focused Care (2018), the standard protocol is rich with mindful language and concepts, evidence of Dr. Shapiro’s own foundation as a mindfulness practitioner. Granted it took years to work through my initial tantrums about not being a person who exists well in a box to see the beauty in the technical aspects of EMDR. I learned to appreciate that the principles, techniques, and protocols were not the boxes I once feared them to be. Rather, they are tools like paintbrushes, paints, and canvases that allow my clients, with my guidance, to create works of art.
The words of Nirali, my lead teacher throughout the yoga teacher training experience at AYI, sum up what I’ve come to learn as both a yoga teacher and an EMDR therapist/trainer. In one of our closing classes she said, “Learn the rules so that you know how to break them elegantly when you need to. But if you don’t learn the rules you just come off as amateur.” For anyone currently struggling to learn any system that makes you feel boxed into a script, I encourage you to consider this wisdom. If years down the road you are still feeling boxed in and stifled there may be a larger issue to consider here about whether the approach in which you’ve been trained is right for you. My hope is that after an initial period of practice in any scripted or protocol-driven approach you will feel more liberated to be yourself instead of less liberation. This is the art of allowing your Higher Self to shine through in your work, in your life, and in all that you do!
I constantly hear the compliment, “Jamie, You are such a good marketer! You know how to get noticed and make things happen.”
Truthfully, I’m not a very good marketer. Any significant money I’ve put into promoting my programs and services purely for the sake of generating more sales never really panned out. I’ve done “marketing consultations” with experts and either (a) learned from them what I read for free online or in affordably purchased books or (b) found their advice impractical, costly, and not authentic to my mission.
Networking, however, resonates with the core of who I am and how I run my business. Networking is organic. Networking is the art of getting to know people and sharing who you are with them. Networking activates community. Everything I’ve built with my personal brand and Institute for Creative Mindfulness programs (EMDR therapy, Dancing Mindfulness, Yoga Unchained, Expressive Arts Certification) is a result of a few key networking practices I implemented. It’s my honor, in this blog, to share with you some field notes on what I’ve learned since beginning to venture out on my own in 2008.
1. Set your Intention and Create Room for it to Grow
When I began my career in professional counseling I still experienced a strong calling to teach – and I let people know about it in my network. Setting intentions are about planting needs, not forcing outcomes. I began cultivating my intention by entering a PhD program with the hopes of being a counselor educator. However, after offering some CEU workshops and receiving solid feedback on my skills in teaching clinicians advanced skills, a new path quickly revealed itself to me. Through the encouragement of my peers in these earlier years and through their willingness to share their contacts with me my training career grew. I fondly thank Ric Socie, an early co-worker and cheerleader, who shared his contact at the Cuyahoga County ADMHS Board in Cleveland, OH with me. The ADAMHS Board was the first group to ever pay me to do a training and the contacts I made and network I was willing to seek out grew from there.
2. Let People Know What you Do/Offer
Enlivened by the prospects that doing clinical trainings in combination with operating a specialized private practice could be my path to making a living, I continued to explore the possibilities of networking. In the era just before the potential of social media exploded, I learned to do things that I still encourage my consultants to do to this day – write letters and send emails. When I moved into a private practice specializing in trauma in 2008, I sent personal letters to all of the professional contacts I’d come to know in the three previous years working in agencies. From there I flowed my initial referrals that grew the word-of-mouth bug about my services and I have not wanted for work to this day.
Around this same time I spent mad hours on Google in between researching my doctoral dissertation, investigating which organizations offered professional trainings for continuing education. I composed a general email introducing myself and the areas in which I could train, and I personalized it as appropriate. I must have sent 500 emails in 2008 alone. I got about 5 replies, and from those replies grew the network that got me onto the national stage training and writing.
3. Get the Conference Scene and Using “freebies” to Grow you Network
Unless you are firmly established speaker invited as a special guest, most professional conferences in various fields do not pay. In some cases it will cost you to travel and even register (usually at a discounted rate) for the conferences. However, participating in them can be tremendously valuable, and not just for adding another bullet point to your resume. Start with state or regional conferences if you don’t have the budget to travel nationally. In fact, state or regional conferences may be even more valuable for getting people to know you and what you offer in your area. This can be a tremendously powerful source for referrals. While the work may seem like a “freebie” at the time consider its value in the long-run. Even at my level where I can command decent money to speak and to train, I still teach a handful of events as “freebies” each year, usually as an act of service. However, sometimes my gut tells me it makes good networking sense. In addition to conferences, consider opportunities like speaking as a part of a public library series, offering a lunch and learn or community chat (many entities in the community host these programs), or volunteering your services to speak at places like Rotary luncheons or a local radio show. Approach these opportunities not as selling yourself, rather, to share the knowledge you have with your community and promotion may come as a byproduct of casting your light into the world.
4. Use Social Media (Wisely) as an Extension of your Network
One of the best pieces of advice I ever received on using social media is that if you use it to only promote your events and sell your services, you will fall flat. Rather, use social media to help people get to know you and to give away as many free resources as you are able and willing to share. This can be as simple as reposting a video, a blog, or a meme (crediting the source you found it where possible – and the source may get to know you too as a result). Although creating some of your own original content in this area and tagging it well can be very helpful, you can still go for sharing other resources. It’s completely up to you which platform or platforms you use – Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, Pinterest, Tumblr, Twitter, and Snapchat all have their potential. Know which ones you’re likely to use and like and start there.
I can speak most fully to YouTube and Facebook since I use them the most. YouTube allows people to find your teaching through tagging. If a good video has appeal, it will spread. You can make simple teaching videos on a cell phone; keep it concise and tag it well and you’d be surprised who may find you. If people subscribe to you cannel, they will be notified when you post new content. Making playlists of your favorite videos (even if they are not your original content) and titling the playlist with a popularly searchable name is another way to share knowledge and spread your channel.
There are multiple ways to put Facebook to work for you, enough to warrant a separate blog if there is interest. There are many options: LiveCasts, groups (starting groups, taking active part in existing groups), establishing a fan of business page or using your personal page in a savvy way. Although many of us make the choice to create fan pages to help with creating boundaries be advised that Facebook’s system either requires businesses to do paid “boosts” (which may or may not be doable for you) or necessitate that you post a great deal of content to stay on the scroll pages of you followers. For this reason I’ve found that using my personal page to share photos of events (with proper ethics followed for respecting others), to tag myself/check in at events or venues, and repost content from the business pages are all valuable. I can also generate productive conversation by sharing a thought or insight from my personal/professional life. Connect with people, share yourself, although be mindful not to air your dirty laundry or to use Facebook for ranting about a personal issue that ought to be worked on with your therapist or healing team first.
A final note on the possibilities of social media. I don’t use Twitter a great deal although a post I made there about Dancing Mindfulness – through the power of hash tagging – led me to a journalist who ended up featuring me and Dancing Mindfulness in the New York Times!
5. Trust Yourself and Work on Boundaries
For many people I advise in the area of building and growing a business or personal brand, a fear of “putting themselves out there” exists. What if I get haters or negative comments? (HINT: That means you’re probably doing something right). What if I’m not ready? (HINT: you’ll never really build the skills to handle this unless you practice them in the real world). All of this seems so unnecessary (Reality: There is an element of both work and surrendering the outcome for an intention to blossom). In this day and age, unless you get an amazing stroke of luck, being successful with cultivating a planted intention requires work – no coincidence it’s called networking. Embrace it in a way that feels genuine for you yet may cause you to feel a bit of that discomfort edge that creates opportunity for new growth. If you are engaged in your own therapy or healing arts, I encourage you to bring any themes or observations that emerge from hitting these edges to the table. There’s a feast to explore, if you’re willing, that can nourish you’re dreams and water the intentions you planted.
I wrote my first Poem of Instruction “As a Daily Prayer” at the invitation of my expressive arts therapy teacher and mentor, Dr. Christine Valters Paintner, in 2015. My poem was first published by Yoganonymous (a now discontinued website) in 2015 and later in Christine’s own book, The Wisdom of the Body: A Contemplative Journey to Wholeness for Women (Sorin Books, 2017). The poem still serves as a reminder to me of what I need to do for my health and my growth, and I read it regularly as an accountability check.
Eat greed foods
Drink fresh water
Repeat as often as possible,
As a daily prayer.
Ask for God’s help
Call upon the earth’s healing energy
Repeat as often as possible,
As a daily prayer.
Laugh heartily from the belly
Move the body with joy
Repeat as often as possible,
As a daily prayer.
Breathe deeply and fully
Connect with kindred spirits, or the silence
Repeat as often as possible,
As a daily prayer.
Know that if you are ever too busy
To take part in these daily sacraments
Then you are too busy…
Ask yourself—what keeps me from
eating green foods
drinking fresh water
asking for God’s help
calling upon the earth’s healing energy
laughing heartily from the belly
moving with joy
breathing deeply and fully
connecting with kindred spirits or silence…
Listen to your breath, listen to your body--
The answer will arrive.
I would now like to challenge you to write your own Poem of Instruction. These do not have to be long; a few lines will do. If your first reaction is “I can’t write poetry,” consider that what makes a poem a poem is that you determine when the lines start and stop. In prose writing, the natural endings of the lines on paper or in the word processing program determines that for us. And poems do NOT have to rhyme.
When I teach the Poem of Instruction, I generally recommend that you set a time for about 10-15 minutes of free writing in response to the question: How can I best care for myself today? After the free writing period concludes, go back with a highlighter or your favorite colored pencil, pen or marker, and notice which lines resonate the most with you. My teacher Christine often uses the word “shimmer” and I am a big fan of that word for these purposes. What lines, what words shimmer for you? Let those become your poem and if you are so inspired, you can even make some visual art or an accompanying playlist to help you further connect to your Poem of Instruction. You are free to share yours here in the comments, although that is not required. What I most suggest is that you leave your Poem of Instruction somewhere that you can readily access it, even using it as a daily reading if possible.
Photograph by Dorit Drori
I majored in history as an undergraduate at Youngstown State University, and was privileged to take several classes with noted Jewish scholar and author Dr. Saul Friedman.
When I took his course on the Holocaust as a nineteen-year-old, he asked us one day, “How many of you have ever heard of Anne Frank and her diary.”
Every single person in the class raised their hands. I was especially eager to put mine up since I played her on stage when I was fourteen!
He then followed with, “How many of you have ever heard of Hannah Senesh and her diary?”
“I figured,” he said, before launching into a lecture that would impact my life unlike any other during my undergrad.
“No disrespect to Anne Frank, whose influence as a historical figure cannot be denied. But if you want a much more interesting diary that tells a much more interesting story—the story of a gutsy young woman taking a stand against the Nazis—read Hannah Senesh.”
Hannah Senesh (the commonly anglicized version of the Hungarian Szenes although you see her name appear both ways) died fighting Nazi persecution at the age of 22. She trained as a paratrooper with the Royal British Air Force to take part in one of the only known rescue missions into an occupied country at the end of World War II. The purpose was to save Jewish lives. The entire story of Hungarian Jewry during the Holocaust is fascinating, and you can watch a beautiful documentary of Hannah’s life in this context called Blessed is the Match: The Life and Death of Hannah Senesh, directed by Roberta Grossman (2008). I will offer you a very rudimentary summary here to better explain my relationship with her.
Hannah was the daughter of a famous Hungarian playwright, born at a time when the Jewish population in Hungary was very assimilated. Hannah was not really aware of what it even meant to be Jewish until the rise of Nazism in Europe and its first impact on her—being told she was no longer allow to go to the school she had been attending. To cope with these increasing experiences of anti-Semitism in her own life, Hannah made a choice to dive fully into studying Hebrew language and Jewish teaching, and she neutralized her initial shame by learning to take great pride in what it meant to be a Jew. Hannah emigrated from Hungary to Palestine in 1941 to study farming. Her mother originally protested because Hannah was a brilliant student and saw farming as a waste of her academic talents. She eventually consented, sensing the rising instability in Europe. While learning to work the land, Hannah also began writing in Hebrew, specifically in the genre of poetry. Hannah joined the Women’s Auxiliary Unit of the British Royal Air Force in 1943, training in Egypt for her ultimate mission: to parachute into Partisan Yugoslavia alongside other Jews living in Palestine with the intention of crossing into Hungary to extract as many Jews out as possible.
Hungarian Jews were largely spared during the earlier years of the World War II, yet by the end of the war the Nazi tide swiftly moved through Hannah’s own country. When she went on her mission in 1944, her ultimate motivation was to spare her mother and as many Hungarians as possible from the fate of Auschwitz. Hannah was arrested and exposed as a British spy soon after crossing into Hungary, ultimately being tortured, “tried,” and ultimately sentenced to death by firing squad in a Gestapo prison. In an interesting footnote that is better explained in the documentary, Hannah’s stand ultimately saved her mother’s life. Instead of being sent to a death camp, Hannah’s mother was imprisoned alongside of her on suspicions that she was a co-conspirator. The trial of Catherine Senesh, Hannah’s mother, kept getting delayed and the war eventually ended before she could be tried.
After Dr. Friedman told me about her, I read her diary, her poetry translated into English, and everything written about her—I felt that the bravest young woman of my age I had ever met came alive for me! I was not raised Jewish although studying Anne Frank at an earlier age and studying Hannah in college began my interest in learning more about Judaism. I wondered why history had not granted Hannah the same reverence as Anne Frank? Was it because Hannah was considered a Zionist and is still largely heralded as a hero in the Zionist movement? In the open blood sore of trauma and traumatic reenactment that defines life in much of the Middle East, Zionism can be a dirty word.
Although Dr. Friedman entertained this conjecture, his ultimate contention rings prominently for me to this day, “History usually loves the good girl who believed that deep down people are really good at heart. Anne is safe. Hannah was a rebel.”
When he put it that way, I found what in EMDR therapy or other trauma-focused therapy terms we may call a protector figure. Historical figures can be used as such protector figures, and we can sense their presence, their support, and use their example to guide us into our deeper work. Hannah was my first historical protector figure before I even knew the jargon of that therapy term I now use so readily in my teaching! Her most famous poem, Blessed is the Match, which she gave to one of her squadron members just before she crossed into Hungary, became a guiding prayer through those rough undergraduate years when I was struggling to claim my own identity.
Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame
Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart
Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor’s sake
Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame
If you want to know why I resonate with Hannah’s story and life so much, take in this poem. I made a poster of Blessed is the Match and hung it up in my dorm room. As I struggled to learn how my heart really worked around issues like my faith, my sexuality, and the clash between my learned self-hatred and an innate belief that who I authentically am could bring about some good in the world, Hannah’s poem sustained me. In the throes of my most active addiction that lasted from age 19-23 (the ages where Hannah had set off to redefine herself and change the world in her own way), I believe that reciting Blessed is the Match kept me alive quite a few times. My heart never stopped beating, even though I wanted it to many times in that era, because as it turns out, my Higher Powers and the world were not yet done with me.
I write this tribute, this letter of love and thanks to Hannah, on my first journey to Israel. I had the chance to visit Hannah’s monument at Sodt Yam, the kibbutz near Caesarea where she worked before joining the British Royal Airforce. Blessed is the Match appears in Hebrew on the base of her statue. After a day of moving through clogged traffic, the tension evident to me in Jerusalem, and other sites packed with noisy Western tourists, I sat on the kibbutz in Sodt Yam the only visitor. I admired her monument, which struck me as a classic embodiment of a Divine Feminine, the sun of the Mediterranean setting against my back. Although I appreciated the quiet and quickly realized why she loved this place so much (honored in her poem Eli, Eli that was eventually set to music), my solitude as the only Westerner around made me rethink Dr. Friedman’s question: How many of you have ever heard of Hannah Senesh? It’s a question I’d like to yell out at the top of my lungs to everyone at the tourist sites and if the answer is no, why haven’t you?
This tribute is my small way of sharing a major influence, a protector figure, with people who are likely to read my work. I know it’s a risky piece to write as I fear that it may be quickly politicized because of who Hannah was. As much as I’d like to say, keep politics out of it, I know that may be impossible for many, regardless of where we stand or how we feel about the cause of tensions in the Middle East. Whenever issues of identity are at stake, it’s difficult not to feel issues personally or become enraged by injustices. I would like to think that Hannah’s heart is breaking to see what is happening in this part of the world, her homeland that she loved so much. So, I end my tale by telling you specifically why I thanked Hannah at her beloved Sodt Yam—because she never once left me or the nineteen-year-old self who still lives within me. The match she lit for me all those years ago recently helped me to be brave, strap on my parachute and fly.
I’ve not publicly announced this yet in any of my writing and will keep the details limited since healing is still a work in progress. The last three years were particularly turbulent for me in realizing that I had to live my life as fully and as authentically as possible to be my healthiest self—and I wasn’t doing that. The deaths of several people close to me made me realize just how much of myself I was hiding, both with my professional voice and issues around personal identity. The shameful remnants of the religions in which I was raised clashed up against my sexual identity. My renewed drive to be an unapologetically feminist voice in a country where disrespect towards strong women still abounds toppled many of the internal messages I still carried about the importance of being a nice girl. And I came to a place where enough was enough. I was playing it safe, not speaking up nearly enough about issues that mattered to me, for the sake of being too diplomatic. In a country where strong females are still regularly mocked with pejoratives and insults, my fear of not being liked or making too many waves kept me silent on issues in every area of my life . This surprises many people who have long seen me as outspoken. This meant I had to make the difficult decision to leave my second marriage, wading through the negative self-talk around, “Oh what will people say? She helps so many other people and can’t keep her own shit together.”
Hannah helped me torch this script. Literally.
One night during a therapy retreat with my personal EMDR therapist, I was also reading work on the four elements by Christine Valters Paintner, one of my spiritual teachers. In doing a meditation on fire, I felt Hannah’s presence so strongly and Blessed is the Match, a poem I hadn’t consciously prayed in years, ignited my heart. I had not yet left my marriage but was getting close, and using my trauma healing knowledge to strengthen the resources that Hannah gave me all those years ago helped me to leap with both the fear and excitement she may have felt jumping out of that plane. When I sensed into that resource, I literally felt like she was giving me her parachute.
Hannah’s parachute represented and continues to represent Spirit/Source or my Higher Power, the assurance that even in the face of risk and maybe even eventual fallout, there’s a larger purpose in everything and I am loved. Her match represents validation that my heart and all its complexities are sacred just as they are, and can play some small role in bringing warmth and light to a world that is cold and dark. Being myself this fully is a risk, and it’s one that is worth taking!
Through all the difficult days and battles that were ahead of me in the year that followed, I carried an unlit match with me for grounding. A tangible reminder of her gifts and her role as a protector figure. She is one of many forces, in this realm and in the realm of spirit, who has my back, and for their light and their lineage, I am immensely grateful.
Institute for creative mindfulness
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