April Newsletter
We define horror in trauma as experiences in which we witness something deeply disturbing that signals to the nervous system that the world is not safe. What I think is happening to a lot of us right now is that we're getting chronic, low-dose exposure to exactly this kind of material — with no context, no interruption, and no discharge. The accumulation doesn't disappear. It settles. And there is a meaningful difference between a nervous system frozen in accumulated horror and one that is moving, even slowly, toward completion.
March Newsletter
When I was 14, a friend read my writing and told me it wasn't particularly interesting, entertaining, or well written. That was the end of my editorial career — for nearly 30 years.
The thing is, I didn't remember where the belief came from. I just stated it as fact: I'm not a good writer. It wasn't a thought I was having. It was a route my body already knew.
This is why insight alone so rarely creates change. We can know something is a limiting belief and still feel it as truth. The body needs to experience a new possibility — to sense that it's safe — before it will let us act differently. Cognition follows sensation, not the other way around.
So: think of something you've told yourself you can't do. Don't just think it — locate it. Where do you feel that certainty in your body?
Now ask yourself: is that a fact, or is it a very old feeling?

