Are You Phosphorescent?

by Heather Doyle Fraser

Every quarter I contribute an essay to Elan Vitae Magazine. For Spring 2024, I wrote an essay entitled “Phosphorescent,” which was inspired by my March 2024 blog. (If you are curious, you can read that HERE.)

Every issue has a theme, and the Spring 2024 theme is Light. I love to create some contstraint when writing—these guardrails give you a place to start—but when I first thought about Light as a starting place, it confounded me. There were so many ways I could go with this essay—not much constraint there! 

I started thinking of all the ways light makes its way into my life, and I got a little lost. I thought about the obvious first: sunrises and sunsets, pin-pricks of stars, and the glaring light of my head-lamp on a night walk. Then I started thinking of the less obvious— the luminescence of a baby’s skin and the light that brings warmth in a patch of sunlight by the window. Then I found myself hyperfocusing on and marveling at—and this is the absolute truth—the phosphorescent quality of the skin at the inside corner of my daughter’s eyes! (You notice these things when you are a woman in mid-life.) But ultimately, most of these explorations did not make it into this essay (one did, though).

Here’s a short excerpt:

“It’s still cold outside, but I notice the burgeoning of spring every day on my walks. Shoots burst through the soil, defying the snow melt that still covers the grass in my yard. The greening of the grass comes later, but I see hints of it even now. The birdsong has begun to change as more birds come back from their southern migrations. I hear the familiar calls that I have missed in the past few months.

The thing is, even with these outward changes happening around me every day, I still feel like I am in a season of Wintering. This full-body experience craves cocooning and a gentleness as I cuddle into safeness, reconnect with myself, and redefine who I am. And, along with the redefining there is a remembering element as well.

Remembering what feeds and nurtures me.

Remembering what ignites my passion.

Remembering what lightness has the power to do.”

You can read the full essay HERE.

All of this explanation around my process of writing this essay is simply to remind you (and me) that the writing path isn’t a straight one. It requires not only a willingness to explore but also the fierceness to let something go—even if it feels brilliant—when it doesn’t fit the piece. 

This is hard to do sometimes because words are important and precious to us as writers. It’s a practice to compassionately hold all of these competing thoughts and emotions within you when you are writing. But it’s also somewhat of a puzzle, and I am a curious person: puzzles suit me. I’m betting they suit you, too, if you find yourself on the writing path.  When you are working with a puzzle, though, you need some light. (Ahh…full circle.) Light can be elusive when we are searching for it outside of ourselves. What if we turned inward, though? What if we could recognize the light within us to show the way? What if we were phosphorescent?

With that message, I will close today, but I look forward to exploring what a compassionate writing path looks like with you this Spring and Summer. The ComPASSIONATE Writer Spring Cohort will be starting again on May 14. (You can read more about that HERE.) I’m glad you are here to explore this path with me.

Wintering in the Absence of Mothering

by Heather Doyle Fraser

I have been in a season of Wintering, a time of receding and regrouping, a time of cocooning and hygge, I am abundantly aware of the stillness and silence that surround me – especially since my daughter left for college. The silence really isn’t silent, though, and the stillness seems to be an illusion as well. Or maybe it’s just that my expectation of these isn’t what I am currently experiencing. 

I am not still in this space. I am finding it difficult to BE because I want to DO to distraction. I find myself searching for the “very important something that I must do” that isn’t here like it was before. Mothering is absent. 

In this absence, I am required to reclaim some of myself that I put down eighteen years ago. I say required, but really, I want to do this. I am creating space for it, for me. I am exploring full-out in this silence in a way that I haven’t been able to for years. I thought I had explored – and I believe me when I say that I did – but it was always alongside motherhood because my child needed me. I made a career in publishing, I wrote and published multiple books, I opened my own publishing company, I healed and re-wrote stories that I had carried for years, and I followed my passions and ideas. But all of this I did as a second to motherhood. Now – although motherhood is still within me, mothering is not as present as it was a few short months ago. There is space. And this space feels quiet and still, even though I am not always quiet or still.

I feel the absence of mothering, though, in the silence of the space that has opened up. Sometimes I feel grounded in this space and in the quiet. Other times, the silence harbors a growing dialogue of shoulds as well as explorations of new possibilities – a paradox that I am continually holding together. I guess it’s not silence after all – it’s just not what I imagined it would be. Or, maybe this is just what silence sounds like at this stage of my life.

I do think there is a soundtrack to our silence. It is filled with unrecognized melodies that permeate our every day to the point that they become non-existent in our experience. If I stop now and listen to the silence around me, I can clearly hear cars in the distance, the furnace humming low in the background, and the wind blowing outside through the trees. Even with the doors and windows closed, I can hear the wind rustling the few leaves that still remain. And every now and again, I hear a branch scraping against the house. I know where that branch is – it’s right outside my daughter’s window. And that leads me back to thoughts of her, growing up here and learning to be herself just like I am rediscovering this new version of myself without her.

I remember when my daughter was around five years old, and we were driving in the car – just the two of us. I looked at her in the rearview mirror, bundled in a winter coat in the backseat – her braids on the sides of her head peeking out from under her hat – and I asked her if she wanted to have some music or if she wanted quiet. She responded immediately, “I will have quiet, Mama. I want to do some daydreaming right now.” Then she looked out the window for the entire twenty minutes of our car ride, contentment visible on her face. 

When we arrived at our destination, I asked her how her daydreaming went. She said daydreaming was her favorite part of car rides. She also said she liked daydreaming more than nightdreaming because the daylight and watching the world go by through the window felt cozy. 

I love this memory so much, and it is an anchor for me when I am struggling in the current silence. I want to feel cozy in the stillness and quiet. And often, I do. But what if I allowed some daydreaming for myself? What kind of cozy would I feel then? What if I gave myself permission to explore ideas and a vision for myself that might seem impractical or even impossible? What if I suspended my disbelief, dreamed, and then from that place of stillness and silence created what is burgeoning inside of me and begging to come out?

I already know the answer to these what-if questions because I have engaged with them before. Maybe not exactly like this, Certainly not with the space I currently inhabit in my life now. Even before I had my daughter, when I had all of the space in the world and a lot of silence in which to create, I was not able to ground into the stillness of my heart. I was caught in the frenzy of shoulds and wanting to prove myself.

At fifty, I’m done proving myself to anyone. I am eager to explore, but I am done with “whatever it takes,” and I am embracing boundaries. Boundaries are difficult in the first blush of motherhood because your child needs so incredibly much, both physically and emotionally. You are growing as a mother just as your child is growing. 

The boundaries we set or don’t set as they grow begin to permeate into other areas of our lives as well. And sometimes, we have no boundaries at all (or it feels that way anyway). But as we grow and as our children grow, we are given new opportunities to BE in the quiet and noisy parts of our lives. Maybe that’s what’s in my silence. Maybe that is what lives in my stillness. Boundaries.

The boundaries that I have created are much more visible now, and they provide the constraint that gives me the freedom to listen, the freedom to be, and the freedom to experience my life in a way I haven’t done before. Wintering looks a little different as I settle into that intention.

Allowing Space for Discomfort When Your Only Child Leaves for College

By Heather Doyle Fraser

When I think about what is rising inside of me during this season, I can’t help but look at the proverbial elephant in the room – a paradox of emotions slinking beneath the surface of my everyday, dangerously close to coming into full display with the departure of my daughter to college. I am exceedingly excited for her and all the opportunities and experiences in front of her. I am incredibly proud of her determination and perseverance. I am eager for her to experience the joy of independence, self-sufficiency, and finding purpose and passion in her educational pursuits. I want her to find contentment and peace in her every day and experience the full range of what life offers, and that includes the highs and the lows and all of the nuance in between. At the same time, I want to shield her from the disappointment, sadness, grief, and pain that will undoubtedly show up in that spectrum of experiences on her journey. Holding all of it together – yep, the definition of paradox.

There is a sense of anticipation within me, a melody that has been building and building and building to a crescendo over the past year. And while I write almost exclusively about how the process of writing mirrors the process of life, I am still surprised when I see my story – entwined with my daughter’s – play out with its predictability in process amidst the uncertainty I feel. 

The relationship between my daughter and I has always been sacred. I have enjoyed every season with her, not wishing for a do-over or a return to a different time. I have delighted in her learning, growth, exploration, and how our relationship has evolved and stayed the same over the past eighteen years. I love the person she is, and I love the person I am when I am in proximity to her. I love the essence of home I feel when I hear her voice or feel her presence with me. 

For these reasons, I didn’t expect this next phase might harbor something else – something I haven’t yet experienced – coming up inside of me: an impulse to not return to a time before but to pause and live right where we are for just a little longer. That wouldn’t align with how I live my life, my love for learning and exploration, and my eagerness to experience a story unfold, and yet, there is the impulse – standing there in every room and every moment of my life these days. 

This feeling is uncharted water for me. I live in the cadence of the ebb and flow of a song that changes with need and necessity, but this… this is new. And in the newness of this utter resistance I feel to the speeding up and the building of this melody, I am reminded to allow. 

Ugh. The process shows me the way every time, even if I don’t like the path it sets out before me.

So, what would my story and song look like if I became curious and allowed in this season? If I allowed all of those emotions slinking under the surface to emerge, to rise up without apology? If I gave myself the space to slow down and feel all of the emotions and sensations in my body and not numb or pause the time? What if I gave myself compassion for being in uncharted waters? What if I gave to myself what I am giving to my daughter?

She is traveling into a new life, just as we drive the miles to her chosen college. She is uncertain about what is before her. She doesn’t know how things will turn out. And neither do I. She is up for the learning and exploration, though, and so am I. 

She will become a new person in this next phase of life. I will become a new person in this next phase of life. And parts of us will remain the same. Our relationship will shift more abruptly than in previous seasons – like a key change or modulation, perhaps – but these changes have happened before, and they will happen again.

When I am grounded in this idea of process, I can allow for that. I can become a sight reader – a beginner in this new song – for this next phase, not knowing the notes on the page before I see them, but knowing how to come to the notes and string them together because I have been doing that my whole life. I have been living. Why would I want to pause that?

It’s comforting to realize that this phase is like any other in the process of becoming. I can let go of the outcome with the realization that the process will carry me through the living and the learning.

It’s easy for me to cognitively understand these truths and say I will commit to the process, but the process itself is harder to embody during these uncertain times and when I feel like my heart is being ripped from my body. Even as I write these words, I feel like I am showing too much, allowing too much, but the alternative is less attractive to me. 

So, I will be with the discomfort of over-sharing, hoping that if you, too, have a story similar to mine, you will see another very important truth: you are not alone. I am with you, and I am with myself. We are together now, and that brings me a fraction of ease. And if you aren’t able to allow these same emotions for yourself, I will hold the space for both of us until you are ready. I will allow my tears to fall, and I also will allow a smile and a hearty laugh as those glorious moments of joy bump up against my sadness and uncertainty. I expect this song will require a new commitment every day as it morphs and changes shape over time. But I can allow that cadence. I can be with my rising discomfort because this uncomfortable truth needs acknowledgment and space.

Compassionate Process Over Productivity Please

by Heather Doyle Fraser

Productivity is a word that, in some contexts, is helpful. Dirty dishes? Yes, productivity is helpful. I like to eat off of clean plates and have a clean glass. No clean underwear or socks? Yes, let’s do that laundry and check that task off the list!

But what about writing? I see lots of noise right now around writing and productivity– it’s January, after all. What do I mean by noise? Here are some examples:

• 1000 words per day! No exceptions!

• Your daily writing time is non-negotiable. You must write every day! And while you’re at it, make sure it is in the morning and that you write three pages (8.5 X 11) as quickly as possible – 10-15 minutes is good.

• Write your book in a weekend, but only if you act now with my easy-to-use template! (Substitute any unrealistic amount of time here, such as “seven days” or “in only a month.”)

If you haven’t guessed yet, I don’t think productivity for productivity’s sake will get you very far in writing. Your task manager is not going to write your book or other big writing projects. In my book (yes, pun intended), process will support you on the page in a way that productivity just can’t touch. When you focus on the process of writing, you will achieve whatever goal you set for yourself eventually and at just the right time. 

When you focus on process, presence is available. When you focus solely on productivity in writing, you often experience something you may not have expected: resistance. 

You are human. You have a voice to share, and that is vulnerable. When we are vulnerable, we feel (at the least) uncomfortable and sometimes even under threat – from both our inner landscape and our outer world. When we feel uncertain or filled with doubt, often we bargain for control. If I just follow this system… If I just write 1000 words a day… If I just have the self-discipline to buckle down and overcome this resistance…

We’ve all been down this road at least once. Where does this leave us? It leaves us judging ourselves and what we do every minute of the day. We become only as good as our doing, forgetting about our being. This creates a harsh inner landscape that is confusing, conflictual, and contradictory to the creative journey of writing. Self-criticism and judgment with a side of shame. 

What I am offering for your consideration is another way. A way that – at its foundation – relies on self-compassion, process, and trust. 

First, let’s come to a place of fundamental understanding around the writing process. Not all writing needs to be for public consumption. Yes, I said it. Let that sink in for a moment. If you identify yourself as a writer (especially in a time when it is so easy to share your work online) it’s difficult to let go of the goal of productivity. We suffer under the expectation that everything we write must be shared and measured by the outside world. It’s difficult to remember that we can – and it is helpful – to be in the process of writing for its own sake.

I work with people who use writing as a way to share their message and themselves with the world. Often they are writing a blog, and they also may be writing a book or moving towards that goal. It’s good to have goals to move towards because when you start with the end in mind, it’s easier to get there. But sometimes, we become lost in the goal and lose sight of the process.

Good writers do a few basic things over and over that make them consistently better:

• Write consistently without the expectation of sharing all of it. (You will be sharing – just not ALL of it!)

• Read consistently multiple genres for enjoyment.

• Practice the process of writing and reading over and over.

• Trust the process of writing and revising: trust what you and your voice (your writing) needs each day.

And the nice thing is, even if you don’t consider yourself a “good writer” now if you do these basic things over time, you will become one.

A deep writing process is not for those who want the quick dopamine hit of a social media post where people will respond almost instantaneously. Deep writing practice and process requires you to shift your expectation around productivity. It’s a process of delayed outward gratification, but instantaneous internal gratification. Every moment spent in the practice allows you to grow. Every moment is productive even if it doesn’t appear so to the outside world. 

The writing process favors being in the present moment rather than doing as much as you possibly can. It favors focus, and time, and exploration. There is no multi-tasking with writing.

What does this mean if you are writing a book?

First and foremost, there are no shortcuts, easy buttons, or templates that will bring you what you desire, which is your unique voice out there in the world, couched in story, and cradled in a book cover. There are no productivity hacks when you are starting out on your writing journey. Sure, you can track your words in each session, but what does that really mean? It only means you wrote that many words that day. It doesn’t mean that you will keep all of those words in whatever you are creating.

I find tracking words and your outward productivity is an ill-advised tactic that doesn’t always lead the beginner to their ultimate goal. This type of productivity tracking focuses you on the blades of grass instead of the bucolic expanse of the landscape in front of you. And it sets you up for feeling like a sloth and a harsh inner landscape filled with cutting self-criticism.

Pay attention to your resistance in your creativity. There is another – more compassionate – way to create that supports your voice without constantly also igniting your threat system.

When you first begin a consistent writing practice, time is your friend. You can commit to time on writing more easily than words on a page. For instance, when you are beginning, you can commit to twenty minutes of writing time and then incrementally increase the writing time as you become more comfortable with the practice of writing. Like anything you are beginning, start small and incrementally increase as you become more comfortable. Allow your comfort zone to expand with you as you progress. When your goal is time, and you are present for that time, you set yourself up for success and some momentum that will help you, not resistance that hinders you.

If we compare writing to any other activity that you would practice, it’s easy to see that a compassionate process leads to presence and generally growing stronger in the practice of whatever you cultivate. Let’s take exercise – running and walking in particular. I really enjoy short distances in the run/walk, especially the 5K distance. 

I’m not fast. I run a bit (well, it’s probably better characterized as a jog), and I walk a bit as my body dictates. And I realize as I create a practice with running and walking, I enjoy it more and more. I find, too, that the practice of running is so similar to the practice of writing. It provides a physical manifestation of what I experience internally when I’m writing. I have to convince myself to start sometimes, and I always feel better afterward. I have even written a piece or two on the up-and-down relationship with running and writing and how they are so similar.

I’ve noticed some interesting things since I started exploring the similarities between writing and running on social media. Primarily because running is something that people track and have goals around, people who have read my posts about the connection between running and writing immediately assume that I am running to meet an outside goal. I’ve been asked so many times, “What are you training for? What race are you working towards.” And the curious always seem a bit surprised when I tell them that I’m not really training for anything. I just want to get better at running three times per week, feel strong, and build my lung capacity and fitness level so I can enjoy my body to its fullest extent for as long as possible. And I really enjoy how I feel when I’m done! That’s not traditionally productive, but it suits me and my needs just fine.

If we look at running and its similarities with writing, you wouldn’t ask yourself to run three miles tomorrow if you had never run a mile before. It’s the same with writing. You can’t expect to write 1000 words in your first writing session if you have never done it before. Moreover, you can’t expect yourself to consistently write that many words, day after day when you haven’t practiced for it. You won’t have the stamina to sustain it.

In the most simple terms, we need to flip our expectations on how we think about productivity when we embark on cultivating a compassionate writing practice.

When I am working with someone on a book, this expectation flip is particularly hard. If you are writing a book that caters to your voice that highlights your strengths as a writer and your message, it is not going to be one that you can write in three days, a week, or even a month. It’s a long layered process that meanders even when you have a book map. It grows and evolves as you grow and evolve. And once that first draft is done, you are not nearly finished. 

And if you stick with it, over time, you will have the book in your hands, but only if you allow the process. And only if you allow that every word you write is not for public consumption. Some words will always only be just for you.

If this type of writing process sounds like something you would like to explore, join me in the ComPASSIONATE Writer. It’s a six-week program that allows you to explore and create a compassionate process that supports your relationship with your writing practice, your voice, and your book. Learn more HERE.

It's All About the Relationship

by Heather Doyle Fraser

When I tell people that I read for pleasure at night after a day of working with authors on their books and also writing for myself, they look at me in disbelief. It’s true, though. I adore books. I adore story. I adore witnessing a voice in its fullness. But more than anything, I adore the relationships I cultivate when I am reading.

I have a very ingrained nighttime ritual that includes reading for pleasure every night. No matter what (or almost always no matter what). Even on the nights when I have a late gig (I am in a band so occasionally, I don’t get home on the weekends until after midnight). Even when I am tired. The length of time that I read isn’t always the same – sometimes I read for ten minutes, sometimes my reading session lasts for more than an hour. But it is always there ushering me out of my day filled with people’s needs and project needs, and into a quiet space that is only for me.

When I talk about this reading practice of mine, some think I am exaggerating. Others comment that the minute they go to their bedroom, they simply can’t keep their eyes open. All of this is completely reasonable and understandable. What they don’t know is that reading is my love. I crave the haven it provides me. I crave the relationship I feel with the content, the story, the characters, the flow of ideas, the pace of the words on the page. It’s all about the relationship for me, and it sustains me and gives me hope when everything else feels difficult and hard.

I started reading early on, and once I began, I never replaced it with something new. My dad read to me before bed before I could read on my own, and even after that. Some of our favorites were the books in the Wizard of Oz series (there are fourteen books in the series) by Frank L. Baum, Under the Lilacs by Louisa May Alcott, and The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles by Julie Andrews (yes, that Julie Andrews). My sister and I would curl up on either side of my dad on my parent's bed, and he would read. It felt safe, and I felt seen – not just in the stories but also by my father. It was a quiet place where I could revel in wonder and dream, and I could also share that with my dad. My sister often fell asleep, but I was all in, and it wasn’t difficult to plead for another chapter and have that wish granted.

As I grew, I continued reading in my own bed at night before turning out the light. Later in my teen years, I used that time for writing, too. So, this bedtime ritual I currently have isn’t something new. It’s more than a habit at this point in my life. It is a way of life. Reading, story, authors, have always been there for me even when I wasn’t showing up for myself or when I didn’t feel supported in this challenging world.

In order to be a good writer, you must be a good reader. This means first and above all that you read. Books. And I highly recommend reading books in multiple genres because it stretches you. Oh, and as a bonus, it is immensely fun and rewarding!

When you read different genres and don’t stick to the one where you feel most comfortable, you begin to see the connections of story among all of them and how story works whether you are writing a creative personal essay, non-fiction, poetry, short story, memoir, long-form contemporary fiction, young adult fiction, fantasy… the list could go on and on as you know, but we’ll stop right here.

One of the genres that I ask my clients to read first alongside whatever they naturally gravitate towards is poetry. (I can feel some of you rolling your eyes, and that is ok! Stick with me for just this paragraph.) In poetry, we discover that an economy of words doesn’t mean we can’t express ourselves. Poetry provides some constraint for the writer, and that is just what we need sometimes. 

I challenge you to slow down and read some poetry today and see how it feels as it seeps into your soul. Allow your compassion to come into the space with you as you meet your emotions, for they will come up. Then, allow your curiosity some space and room to breathe: What do you notice about the author’s voice, pacing, or other writerly techniques? What do you notice as you look at how you relate to the piece?

If poetry is new to you and you don’t know where to start, I’m going to suggest Mary Oliver. There is a collection of her work in a book called Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver that I promise will not disappoint you. 

In one of her most famous poems, Summer Day, Mary Oliver begs a question, 

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

The answer for me is easy to identify but takes a lifetime of care and intention to cultivate: build relationship – with myself, with story, with kindred spirits, with character, with voice, with authors, with books, with life.

What will you do?

For the Love of Letters

by Heather Doyle Fraser

My grandfather’s birthday was in January. My grandmother’s birthday was in March. February feels like the perfect time to celebrate their love and the one-sided record I have of their relationship. 

Of course, I have rich memories of their relationship burned into my brain but these memories are from a child’s perspective. I was almost 13 when my grandfather died in 1985 and nearly 14 when my grandmother passed in 1986. My sister and I spent the night with my grandparents at least a couple of times each month (maybe more) when we were growing up so I spent a lot of time with them. 

They were always affectionate with and kind to each other: a complimentary word from my grandfather to my grandmother, a smile and a wink, a kiss on the cheek, a hug, or a squeeze of the hand when sitting together. However, all of these affectionate moments were driven by my grandfather. This didn’t seem in the least bit curious to me because my grandmother was always doing, caretaking, and making sure that everything was done the “right” way in her estimation. The “everything” revolved around household chores and expectations: preparing food, cleaning up, doing laundry, ironing, and sewing – a full-time job. Now that I think about it, this was probably her way of reciprocating those kind and affectionate moments my grandpa initiated. 

They were married in 1929 and celebrated 56 years together before my grandfather passed. They shared the birth of seven children and 24 grandchildren while they were alive. Their story is so much more than that, too, as all stories are. My grandfather was a dentist and conducted his dental practice from their home. I actually have the desk that he used in his home office in my family room. It looks out over my backyard and has become one of my most cherished writing spaces.

It’s hard to imagine what their home was like since it housed their seven children (6 boys and 1 girl) and also my grandfather’s dental practice. To say that it was a vibrant hive of activity would probably be an understatement. My father remembers that every night the dinner table would be set for 13-14 people – not the expected 9. My grandparents welcomed anyone into their home who needed a meal and a safe place to land. There are so many stories I could tell of my grandparent’s compassion and hard work, but that’s not what this story is about. I only bring it up because it provides a little context into the full life they built, shared, and maintained over the course of their relationship.

A couple of years ago, we found letters, though. Letter after letter dating back to the 1930s, some barely legible and faded after years of being stored in a shoebox. Letters from my grandfather to my grandmother exploring his deep and abiding love for her. These letters were stunningly expressive, heartfelt, deep explorations of love. He wrote them on her birthday, their anniversary, Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, Easter, and then on random dates (however they may have not been random – I will never know for sure on that one).

When I unfolded the letters for the first time I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My grandfather was a poet and a storyteller. He was eloquent and each letter brought my heart aching clarity on the depth of his love for my grandmother. He didn’t simply say, “I love you.” He wrote her poems. He wrote her stories. He mixed classic myths with his own stories to metaphorically speak about his love and respect for her as a woman, a mother to their children, and a partner in life. He was a writer and I suspect that no one really knew this about him except for her.

Growing up, I always wondered if anyone else in my family loved books and writing as much as I did because I didn’t see it. Finding these letters was a huge gift. I found a heritage that I wasn’t expecting. When I was growing up, I never saw my grandfather reading anything other than the newspaper, but the letters I found told a different story. In those letters, I felt like I was reading something by Joseph Campbell, not James Francis Doyle, DDS.

They say letter writing is a lost art, and I think that is true. 

Historically, letters have served many purposes: to teach, to inform, to describe circumstances, and to express the thoughts, opinions, and feelings of the writer. They provide a record of a moment in time and when revisited, provide a glimpse into everyday life. 

My grandfather’s letters are different, though. Within his letters, he became a poet and master storyteller. I’ve never read so many letters with such substance, passion for life and love, and purpose. They don’t sit on the surface. There were no mentions of the weather, trips to the store, or planning for a looked-forward-to-event. They skipped all of the general contexts most letters start and end with to go much deeper into a shared experience as life partners. 

Among the earliest letters was one that specifically spelled out why he was writing (and not insignificantly, why I was reading the letters some 85 years later). Apparently, my grandfather had made a habit of writing my grandmother letters that he never gave to her. Then, one day, she found one of these. 

I imagine that perhaps she found the letter on his desk – the desk I now sit at daily – while she was tidying things up for him. I imagine that the letter grabbed her attention and begged her to sit a moment in the busyness of her day. I imagine that her voice caught in her throat while she was reading that first letter. And I imagine she let him know how much she appreciated his eloquence and his sharing. So from that day on, instead of writing for himself as a way to express his feelings for her, he wrote with the intention of sharing the letters with her. 

I talk to writers every day and I help them navigate the writing process. What I know about writing is that it is personal and vulnerable and at the same time universal and awe-inspiring. I also know that it must have taken a tremendous amount of courage and self-compassion for my grandfather to switch gears from writing for himself to writing for himself and his partner. It’s like making the switch from journaling daily to writing a book. Different intent. Different purpose. Different experience.

What I notice about these letters from the objective perspective of being a writer and a book coach is that my grandfather intuitively knew how he could compassionately approach his own writing in order to continue for the remainder of his life. This also happens to be what I employ in my writing and what I help others to do in their writing as well:

1. He knew his audience. He wrote specifically for one person and everything was tailored to his knowledge of her. 

2. He knew his why. He wrote for my grandmother, but also for his self-expression. This dual-purpose allowed him to access and share his thoughts and feelings in a way that nothing else could.

3. He knew how he needed to show up. He was committed to his consistency. A commitment to writing isn’t easy but its rewards are huge. For my grandfather, this commitment brought him joy and satisfaction. (This commitment brought joy and satisfaction to my grandmother as well and he knew that, too.)

The last thing about these letters that he most likely did not intend was that he left me and all of my family a legacy. That’s what we do when we put words to the page, particularly in a form that lasts, whether you’re writing a letter or writing a book. 

So today, I invite you to take a page from my grandfather’s letter-writing history and make some history of your own. 

Write today. 

Write for yourself. 

Write for someone you love. 

Write with purpose and passion.

Write with depth.

Write with commitment. 

Do this today, and then do it again tomorrow. Build a legacy for yourself and someone you don’t even know. That message and voice you harbor within needs to be shared.

—

If you are looking for a community to support you in your endeavor to create time for daily writing, join us at The Writing Practice.

What My Run Reminded Me About My Writing Practice

by Heather Doyle Fraser

If there is one activity that brings on my creativity and inspiration it is walking. I am a walker. Nature soothes my soul and allows me to access inner safeness in a world that feels chaotic and overwhelming at times. I like to walk alone. I like to walk with my dog. I like to walk with friends and family occasionally, but mostly it’s just me on my walks and all of my parts that need some soothing.

However, last summer I decided I wanted to reignite my run/walk self. I am currently 49 years old and I wanted to give a gift to my future self. I wanted to give her – this glorious 75- or 85-year-old future version of myself – the gift of strength and endurance and cardiovascular health. So I decided to embark on a run/walk training program just for me.

I’ve never considered myself a runner really. I have friends who are runners. They run marathons and ultra-marathons. I’m usually the person at the checkpoint or at the end of the race with food, extra clothes, encouragement, and a big hug. 

I have run a number of 5K races, though. I was the head coach for my daughter’s Girls on the Run team for three years and about seven years ago I ran a 10K race with my friend. Up until recently, that was the longest distance I had ever run.

When I started on this plan-just-for-me last June, I didn’t actually plan very well for it. 
I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it. I didn’t have any support for myself. 

What did I have? I had a Garmin watch and the Garmin Coach training app. I picked Coach Jeff on the app, because he had a nice face, and in his introduction video he told me he had run about a hundred marathons (he is in his 70s). He also said — and this was very important to me — that his training programs were designed so that you would never puke during a training run. Sold! That was good enough for me! 

I chose a goal for my training, but I did not do any research on how to navigate the plan or reschedule a run if I needed to. I basically just jumped in feet first without any preparation other than my shoes and my watch.

I bet you know where this part of the story is going – it’s going nowhere. I was motivated at the beginning when I birthed this idea, but then life came in and crashed my party. I didn’t stick to the training plan and I didn’t know how to adjust it to fit my schedule. And this was predictable because I didn’t give myself the gift of support around this goal. So I settled for a few run/walks here and there but mostly stayed with my regular walking.

And there was nothing wrong with this, it just was not what I really set out to do.

I stayed in this limbo of half-trying for a couple of months. Then, I found a buddy. I found the perfect virtual accountability partner for me and my runs in my bandmate Elizabeth. (She lives in Kentucky and I live in Ohio.) Here are all of the reasons she is my perfect virtual running buddy:

• She has been on the consistent running train since the beginning of 2021 (or maybe longer) but had a similar history with running to me. 

• She uses the Garmin Coach app so I could ask her how to do things if I couldn’t find the answers I needed with a Google search. 

• I had a relationship with her already and felt comfortable being vulnerable with her when things were going well and also when things were not going well.

I asked if she would be open to being my accountability partner. Guess what? She said she needed one too! So last August we started texting each week with our training plans and then we texted each other after we completed each run. And sometimes we would text randomly if we needed support. It made all of the difference for me.

Setting a New Goal and Creating a New Process

In August of 2021, I set a goal for myself to run/walk a 5K. That was the entire goal. I didn’t sign up for a specific race. It was fun. It wasn’t overly stressful. It was just what I needed. It meant that I had three workouts per week. I met the goal in early November by running a 5K with my husband. 

It’s now February and I have new goals set that are a little more challenging for me. It’s still a 5K run at the end, but I set a time challenge for myself knowing that my training plan would look a little different. I still only have three runs per week, but the workouts are more varied than in my last training plan and also more difficult for me. Really the time goal doesn’t matter to me all that much, it’s the process that I’m interested in, and to get to the process I have to have a goal. 

Last week I had a big run on the schedule = 7 miles. To be honest, there was a part of me that was scared, a part of me that was dreading it, a part of me that was curious, a part of me that was determined, and a part of me that was a more than little excited at the prospect of being able to say that I did it for myself.

Up until that point last week, the longest run I had ever accomplished was 6.6 miles and that was just a week prior. Before that, the longest run I had ever done was that 10K (6.2 miles) I ran with my friend in 2015.

The big run was scheduled for Tuesday, but Tuesday was a polar bear of a day. It was bitterly cold with 15-18mph winds. I wanted to move my body and do this run, but I knew that this was not the day. Instead, I bundled up in layers and went for a three-mile walk instead. I really enjoyed that walk. It wasn’t a fast pace because I was walking through snow and wearing boots, but I was warm and I enjoyed my pre-writing time and the scenery. 

Yes, I said pre-writing time. I consider my walks and runs for the most part to be pre-writing time. I always go out with the intention of mulling over something in my mind. It’s usually a post or a blog or sometimes I am trying to puzzle out a section of a client’s manuscript. It’s purposeful and something I do most days. I don’t always come to a solution for the puzzle, but I always make progress.

I looked at the calendar, and based on my schedule and the weather, I decided that Thursday would be the best possible day of the week for the long run. Thursday came and it was cold but not as cold as Tuesday. The sun was shining and that buoyed my spirits. YES! Today was going to be the day!

Just as I was finishing up my client calls, a blanket of clouds covered the sky and it started to snow. The wind picked up but it wasn’t as bad as it was on Tuesday. I was nervous. I didn’t want to be miserable. I didn’t want to be uncomfortable for an hour and a half or more. I texted Elizabeth and she said just what I needed to hear, “Go out and give it a try. Something is better than nothing. You don’t have to do all of it if today is not the day.”

Yes. I could try. 

I layered up: cold gear running tights, joggers, and leg warmers; cold gear turtleneck, quarter-zip fleece, and light but warm jacket; gloves and hat. The temperature was 28 degrees but with the windchill, it felt like 18 degrees. I drove to the metropark where all of the paths are plowed. It has some rolling hills so I was a little anxious about the possibility of slipping, but I reminded myself that I could take it slow and turn around if the snow got worse.

Mile 1

I started out very doubtful. I did not think I would be able to do the 7 miles on my training plan. I warmed up with a brisk walk for about seven or eight minutes and then started to run at a slow, easy pace. It did not feel good. In fact, it felt very uncomfortable. I felt like I had stilts for legs. But, I was not in pain and I wanted to at least get in a couple of miles, so I kept going.

Mile 2

Once I got to the second mile I started to warm up a bit – I wasn’t taking off any layers or anything, but I wasn’t feeling quite as stiff. And as a bonus, it was really beautiful with a very light snow coming down. Parts of the second mile went through a wooded area too so I was a bit more sheltered and protected from the wind. I told myself I could turn around at that point, but I really didn’t want to. I decided to turn on some music. I never usually listen to anything while I am on a walk or a run, but on this occasion, I cranked up the volume on my phone in my pocket and turned on the tunes. (I have really small ears and earbuds aren’t my friends.) 

Mile 3

Everything started to feel pretty magical during that third mile. In fact, there was a moment when I felt like all was right in the world and I was absolutely sure that I was Wonder Woman. At that point I knew I would do the 7 miles because I was already at the point where I had to turn around to do the second half! I was laughing at myself and marveled that I didn’t think I could do it. What had I been thinking? The music was pumping me up. By the time I finished the third mile, I knew in my heart that I could do this! 

Mile 4

I was still on my high from mile three during the fourth mile. It was glorious. I was over half done. I still carried that “I dan do anything” attitude with me throughout the mile. I was starting to intersperse a little more walking with my running but I had a good rhythm of running a quarter mile and then walking for a minute or so. It was working well and I was still enjoying myself. I took off my gloves because I was actually getting really warm.

Mile 5

By the end of the fifth mile I was drenched in sweat. I was not as dazzled as I had been in miles three and four, but I was content with what I was doing. Towards the end of the mile it occurred to me that I could just do 6 miles instead of going for 7. The route I had chosen would have me right near my car at 6 miles. I really pondered this. I was beginning to get cold from the sweat and while I wasn’t hurting, I was starting to tire.

Mile 6

I hit the crossroads at the beginning of the sixth mile. And it was a LITERAL crossroad. The path on the right would take me to my car and I would be done! The path on the left would give me that last mile that I said I was going to do. I took a deep breath and took the path to the left, but I decided to walk a little more. I chose to run just as much as I could and would then walk. Run a little, walk a little. Run a little, walk a little. And I did this for the whole last mile.

Mile 7

Technically when my watch hit the 7 miles I was done, but I needed to do my cool down. So I walked for another five minutes letting the enormity of what I had just done sink in. I completed a 7-mile run and with my warm-up and cool down it ended up being 7.6 miles. Yes, I interspersed walking with my running and that is why I finished! I took it at a pace I could handle and I completed what I set out to do. In fact, I exceeded my expectations!

Before, During, and After

When I finished, I marveled at my accomplishment. And then I really examined what happened. I set the stage for myself to be able to do this. I created a Before, During, and After plan for myself that worked really well. 

Before the Run: 

• I consistently showed up for months for the training process. 

• I reached out to my support person when I needed to. 

• I picked the most favorable day possible to do this big run. 

• I dressed appropriately to reduce my discomfort as much as possible.

During the Run: 

• I didn’t push myself too hard. 

• I pushed myself just enough to challenge myself, but not lose heart or strength. 

• I listened to music because I knew that would help – even though I had never done it before. But music always soothes me and brings me a sense of confidence and hope. I used that when I needed it. 

• I leaned on my reserves and all that I had done before. 

• I talked nicely to myself when I needed to slow down and walk. 

• I praised myself when I ran for longer than I thought I could.

After the Run: 

• I allowed myself to feel joy and a sense of accomplishment for what I had done. 

• There was a small voice that reminded me that I have friends who run marathons all of the time, but I reminded that voice that I don’t run marathons all of the time and this is a big deal. 

• I stretched after so that I wouldn’t be sore and to ensure that I would be able to continue with my training. 7 miles was not my goal, it was just part of the process!

What My Run Reminded Me about My Writing Practice

Every time I am on a run I can’t help but make connections to my writing practice. Both activities require thought, preparation, determination, consistency, perseverance, and mental and emotional fortitude. When I was on my run, these are the lessons I kept hearing over and over in my head, mile after mile.

Lesson #1: 

Almost everything that is challenging is easier with a supportive partner – even when the partner isn’t physically with you. (Writing practice, I’m looking at you.)

Lesson #2: 

The process is the place to be. The goal helps you to get to your process, but the goal isn’t as important as the process itself. (Writing practice — again — I am looking at you. Practice holds the process.)

Lesson #3:

Even when you think you aren’t writing, you are still making progress. Pre-writing doesn’t always happen when you are on the page. You are prepping for the main event all the time if you are in your process. (Practice, practice, practice in all the ways you can think of – some days that might be a walk.)

Lesson #4:

Your Before, During, and After in your writing is just as important as in anything you do. 

How Can You Plan for Before, During, and After in Your Writing Practice?

I spent a lot of time on my Before, During, and After strategy for that run. It won’t surprise you to learn that I spend an equal (or maybe even more) amount of time thinking about the before, during, and after of consistent writing practice. Writing doesn’t need to be miserable and tortured, even if it is difficult and challenging. When we plan for the event each time in its entirety, the more likely we are to feel safe and comfortable and able to handle the challenges when they come up. 

Before Your Writing Practice:

• Create a consistent time for writing and block it on your calendar. Adjust if you need to without shame. 

• Set up your writing space ahead of time before you sit down to write – maybe even the night before if you are a morning writer. Make sure your laptop or notebook is ready in your space. Do you need a cup of tea or coffee or a glass of water at your desk? Set the cup or glass out on your kitchen counter before you go to bed. And if you have a programmable coffee maker, set it up to be ready when you come into the kitchen in the morning. 

• Do you need a cozy blanket to put over your lap? Do you need that favorite scarf to create a sense of safeness for you? Put these in your writing space.

During Your Writing Practice:

• When you sit down to write, make sure there are no other distractions – like notifications on your laptop or phone – vying for your time.

• Go slow. Speed up when you need to, go slow when you need to. The pace is the pace. You are here for your allotted time (20, 30, or 60 minutes) not a certain number of words.

• Use your outline – you know your route. Your outline or a bulleted plan can be your best friend in your writing practice. It gives you the flexibility and freedom you need to write within it or to choose to go outside of it.

• Join a writing community like The Writing Practice so you have someone with you virtually when you are writing. You don’t have to be alone. You can create a safe haven of support around you.

After Your Writing Practice: 

• When you finish your session, notice if you have ideas about where you want to go and what you want to write next time. Jot these down as a compassionate gift to your future self and your next writing session.

• Acknowledge what you have accomplished! Not everyone steps on this path and you are not only placing your feet on the path, you are moving and making progress. 

Who knew running for myself could parallel the writing practice in so many ways? 

How Did NaNoWriMo Work for You?

by Heather Doyle Fraser

November was National Novel Writing Month. I hear people start to talk about this in late October, “November is National Novel Writing Month! I’m going to do it this year! I’m going to write my book in November!”

Let’s be clear about something from the outset, here. I think NaNoWriMo is awesome. I think it inspires people to think big and imagine a world where they are writing daily and that vision seems exciting and sexy, and also a little scary. And if you sign up for NaNoWriMo on their website — if you look around a little before November 1 — you will see that the good people who birthed this idea intend a few things:

1. Your planning of the novel needs to begin before November 1. In order to start tracking those words on November 1, you need to have created an outline and backstory for your characters BEFORE then. They have a timeline (and even that appears to be a little aggressive to me) that suggests you begin the process of outlining and character development in September.

2. You will write the first 50,000 words of your novel in November. That doesn’t mean you complete the writing of your book. That means you write the first draft of the first 50,000 words of your novel. This is a first draft of a portion of your novel — not a completed manuscript by the end of the month. (Average length of debut fiction novels is 75,000-90,000 words.) 

Let’s do the math on this. If you are writing the first 50,000 words of your novel in the month of November and you start on November 1, that gives you 30 days. This means you are writing about 1665-1670 words every single day of the month. No days off. No exceptions made for, “I’m feeling uninspired and really quite cranky today.” No exceptions for, “I had a client crisis at the office this week and had to put in a couple of really long days at work.” No exceptions for, “I got a terrible cold and didn’t sleep well for a week.” No exceptions for, “My child is sick and I needed to rearrange my entire schedule to take care of them.”

No exceptions.

Unless you decide to take one or two days off each week at the outset. Then you have shortened your writing time. Let’s imagine that you allow yourself to take 6 days off of writing. That means on your 24 writing days you need to write 2,084 words in each writing session. 

More pressure. That’s awesome for setting the stage for creativity and inspiration!

Let’s assume you started ahead of November 1 and you do have an outline and you have created a little backstory on the character development front. Let’s also assume, though, that you didn’t spend as much time on these parts of the process as you would have liked so you are feeling a little uncertain. And, let’s also assume that this is a new endeavor for you so you have not cultivated a consistent writing practice that has become a habit for you. 

If you do not have a daily writing practice in place when you begin, your goal of writing 50,000 words of your novel in 30 days is going to be VERY difficult to achieve. This kind of writing requires practice, consistency, diligence, and a whole lot of self-compassion. Writing nearly 2000 words a day for 30 days takes high-level training! It requires you to set up your life to support your writing habit. 

What does this mean? 

Most people who want to write a book are not full-time writers. They have jobs, families, partners, and responsibilities that require their attention. So, they need to make space for writing like they make space for any truly important and value-based endeavor. They have to account for the time and plan for it, like you would plan to workout or exercise. 

For example, let’s pretend you decide you should write your 2000 words first thing in the morning before work. if you are writing before work in the morning, you would need to make sure that everything is set the night before -- you have to be able to get to bed at a consistent and reasonable time to get up at a presumably unreasonable time to devote yourself to the writing practice before the rest of your responsibilities take center stage (work, adulting, etc.).

The thing people forget when they declare their intention to write a book in a month is that you need to train in order to be able to write nearly 2000 words a day. In order to write this many words consistently per day, you need to have been working up to that number. Your very first writing sessions shouldn’t even have a word count expectation associated with them in my opinion. At the beginning, time alone is your goal. You may not be able to guarantee a number of words at the beginning but you can control how long you sit in front of your laptop.

Just like exercise, this writing journey is a hard one when you feel alone. Even though writing is a solitary endeavor, though, you don’t need to feel alone. And writing in the same space with someone, having compassionate support, and accountability partners all makes this difficult task of writing easier. Doable. And that’s where NaNoWriMo gets it right – all of these people all over the world are engaged in the same challenging activity.

I would like to set the stage though for a more compassionate approach. First off, whether you are writing a non-fiction book (my specialty) or a novel, you need to spend the time upfront on the WHY, the WHO you need to be to write it and WHO you are writing to, the WHAT (hello book plan!), the HOW (What do you need to clear from your schedule? What decisions do you need to make upfront?) and the WHEN. Then you need to get into training mode – consistency is key!

Daily writing practice (or nearly daily) is not only what will help you finish your book, it will also help you to cultivate a deeper relationship with yourself and your writing. It’s pure gold.

So, if you didn’t finish your book in November, no worries! You didn’t have all the information upfront. You weren’t ready. Let’s take it slow and commit to 20 minutes per day, shall we? And if that sounds like too much for day 1, let’s commit to 15 minutes. In a week, you’ll be able to up the time a little just like you up your reps in the gym. 

You can do this… If you want it. If you want to put in the time, day after day, over and over again. Let’s train together. Not for the sprint of one month, but for the long haul. Start now so when November 2022 comes around, you will be in the homestretch rather than behind before you even begin.

If you are looking for a safe place to practice, come join us at The Writing Practice. Learn more at https://mailchi.mp/cmcollab/the-writing-practice.

Avoiding Burnout When the House Is on Fire

By Michelle Schroeder-Lowrey

A few weeks ago, we celebrated Halloween at our school. Halloween is a big holiday at our school - costume parade for our littles in front of myriad parents, middle and upper schoolers and faculty followed by laughter filled parties, treats and games organized by the parent community in each classroom. That is what we would do in a normal year. Of course, 2020 is anything but a normal year. 

I am a teacher of music, movement and drama. I love my job. In a normal year, I would be preparing my students for a rollicking, rambunctious rally for our winter program in December. Normally. Again, this year is anything but normal. This year I am teaching in a beekeeper style helmet with a portable amplifier/headset underneath it. It protects the kids from me and me from them. Not normal. And this year instead of singing uproariously with abandon,  my students hum or sing softly (mezzo-piano) because it is not safe to sing loudly inside together - even in masks.

This year? I am not loving my job - as much. I am grieving. I am grieving the traditional programs that won’t happen, teaching music without singing (imagine teaching math without the numbers) and the loss of my classroom to covid standards that say my space is too small to hold so many students throughout the day. Grief, stress and the looming possibility of another possible shutdown. 

What’s a music teacher to do? How do I not “burnout”? 

In her recent podcast, Unlocking Us, Brene Brown interviewed Emily and Amelia Nagoski, authors of Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle. The stress cycle is what our bodies experience when our brain detects a threat and floods our body with chemicals designed to send us into what is commonly known as fight, flight or freeze. However, what we don’t always know is that fight/flight or freeze are just the beginning of the cycle. Without completing the cycle - giving our bodies the signal that we are safe and danger has passed - those chemicals stay in our bodies, degrading slowly over time, but not flushing out completely. When the next stress cycle happens, the neurochemicals pile on top of the slowly degrading ones we’ve held onto and over time that collection of stress chemicals becomes gastrointestinal issues like IBS, auto immune issues, headaches - you name it. How do we complete the cycle? How do we let our bodies and minds know that even in this time of continuous piling on of stressors we are “safe?”

The Nagoskis list 7 ways to complete the cycle. Some easier than others and a few that surprised me at first:

Physical activity - ultimately 30 minutes/6 days a week (we’ve all heard this one)

Breathing - box breathing or 4-7-8 breathing 

Social Connection - so, so difficult when you are social distancing, but not impossible

Laughter - real, deep laughter - even remembering a time when you laughed yourself to exhaustion

Affection - a 20 second hug, a 6 second kiss

A “big ol’ cry” - we all know what this means and how good it can feel

Creative Expression - creating/doing something through dance, song, art, acting

It’s a good list. It’s a short list. However -  It’s a list that at first glance I thought - when will I have time to do any of these things in between pandemic lesson planning (which feels like reinventing the wheel on some days), teaching, sanitizing, and continuing to do all the mom and wife and daughter and friend duties? During the initial Spring shutdown I got into a good routine of exercise at home, walking my dogs in between recording asynchronous lessons and keeping up with our online grocery, Target and amazon orders. (The online groceries definitely became my source of feeling “in control”).  But in the Fall, when we went back to teaching in person - that routine was quickly disrupted. I had no idea how emotionally uncomfortable it would be to return to teaching. The constant reminders of the virus are everywhere - hand sanitizer stations everywhere, everyone in a mask with no way to read facial social cues, signs reminding us of social distancing and faculty meetings attended on campus from your office on zoom. We are in our normal environment in an abnormal year. And what I didn’t know then and am aware of now - my stress cycles were piling up more quickly than ever before. And if they are building this rapidly for me, how are my students and colleagues feeling? 

And then it dawned on me: I can use my job to incorporate the Nagoski list into my daily routine by making it my lesson plan - to help us all feel safe, gear down from our stress cycles and show each other some compassion and empathy.

First - I created solid routines that include a physical warm up of 2-5 minutes before we take attendance, longer “movement lessons” - explorations of beat and rhythm that feel like elongated dance parties, more playing time with classroom instruments, and more drama games offering time for creative expression. I am less focused on all the things I “need to teach” and more focused on what the students need from me in the moment to feel psychologically safe. If we need to breathe, we breathe. If we need to cry, we cry - I’ve even spent time talking about empathy as a superpower to connect to our friends. And as for laughter? Silly songs and videos I wouldn’t have considered for curriculum in the past are now at the top of my playlists. Every class ends with the same chant: We are kind, we are brave, we are incredibly curious. 

This closing chant is more than just a sentence for me, it’s a mantra. And it’s getting me through. Kindness to myself and others because we all share this common humanity of fears and worries and they are on high alert right now. Bravery looks different every day, but sometimes the seemingly simple acts require the most courage and commitment day after day. And curiosity? Curiosity is an anchor for me now. How can I use what I know and what I do in this wilderness of the “new normal” to create more peace and calm in myself and my students? And in this altered environment, expectations sometimes need to shift. With different expectations, judgement can take a backseat, in fact, it doesn’t even need to ride in the car at all.

In my borrowed office I’ve written this quote on a whiteboard: Since the house is on fire, we may as well warm ourselves. So it is that finding ways to infuse my day with opportunities to stop the cycle of stress - and providing opportunities for my students to feel psychologically safe is just one way to keep burnout at bay - and maybe by the end of the school year I’ll have learned some new jokes and be ready for dance solo or maybe make some s’mores. 

Creating a Space for Grief as the Seasons Change

By Erica Sonnabend

Here I am stepping fully into the Fall season. The weather outside my door has turned to that familiar chill, the leaves have begun their transition to brightness and the moon is revealing more of itself with each night. The cozy feel of warmer clothes comfort me as I start preparing my family and my home for the change of season.

While the promise of a new season can be exciting, the change from one season to the next can also signal a time of reflection and anticipation. If you’re missing a loved one or coping with emotional outcomes due to impactful changes in your life, you may also encounter feelings of grief as we move from one season to the next. 

Where I live, Autumn is the season that transitions us from the warm summer to the cold winter. Although I’m not a fan of ice and snow, I started experiencing overwhelming feelings of dread when fall arrived the year after my divorce. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so unsettled. I’d always liked the fall as a kid and looked forward to it when it was time to go back to college after a great summer. Something changed for me around 2004 and I began going through the motions of life from September through November. I didn’t realize it then, but I was doing my best to avoid how I felt.  I couldn’t determine the root of my feelings because I never allowed them to fully emerge.

It wasn’t until ten years later that I discovered, through grief work, that my dread was connected to my unresolved emotions surrounding my divorce.  It was so surprising to me that the fear, disappointment and feelings of failure and abandonment I was carrying all this time was actually considered grief. (It definitely is!) Equally surprising was that this emotional pain, that I barely shared with anyone, was intruding on my life years after my divorce was final.  I understood that divorce meant I was no longer married, but what I didn’t anticipate was how alone that would make me feel. 

As the calendar progressed into October, the thought of being in the house by myself with my very young daughter during the darker, colder and stormier months ahead filled me with panic and anxiety. I didn’t care about pumpkin picking or decorating for Halloween like I used to. The upcoming holidays were going to be an overwhelming puzzle of “what to do” and “where to go” as a divorced woman.  I kept re-sorting the pieces of my now vacant life and nothing seemed to fit in a way that brought me peace.  Eventually, the start of the fall season triggered my grief year after year. I felt numb inside.

Thankfully, connecting to my true feelings helped me immensely - more than I ever thought possible.  What an enormous relief. Taking steps to acknowledge and understand my grief allowed me to release my feelings of insecurity that were blocking me from being present in my life. I discovered that I needed to grieve the intangible losses that came after my divorce - like my loss of safety, traditions, routine and my role in my ex-husband’s family.  Honestly, I thought that my other relationships were completely fine, but opening myself up to healing enhanced my relationship with my daughter, my mother and my friends. 

The following year, I decided to do something I hadn’t ever done when October came.  I created space in my life for any feelings of dread or anticipation that might come.  I made time for myself daily to do something that connected me to my heart instead of my head.  I opened my heart by looking at old photos, telling family stories to my daughter and listening to music that moves my soul.  I allowed myself to cry (really cry) when I needed to and I talked about my emotions whenever they came up (cheers to my friends and grief specialist).  What a difference a year made - but this time for the better.

Unexpressed grief is powerful. As we continue into the fall season and prepare for what the winter months may bring, I encourage you to also prepare yourself by creating your own compassionate space. Take a moment during your busy days to stop, watch the leaves fall, breathe deeply and connect to what’s in your heart. Being present with your grief will guide you toward your healing.

Wishing you a peaceful autumn, friends.

Erica Sonnabend is a Grief Recovery Specialist from Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Certified by the Grief Recovery Institute, Erica helps others to connect to their unresolved grief and the unexpressed emotions surrounding deep personal loss. Through one-on-one support or group sessions utilizing the Grief Recovery Method, Erica creates a comforting and compassionate space for healing to occur. You can reach Erica through the contact page on her website Sonnabend Grief Support.