Attachment theory is a psychological framework that helps us understand how our early relationships with caregivers shape our emotional and social development throughout our lives.

Recently, I have been reflecting on how my identity as a dancer can transition to my work as a therapist and how I can use these explorations to help clients. I continue to learn about new connections and overlaps between the two professions every day. Stay tuned as I continue through my counseling program and client contact experiences to gain more concrete tools and suggestions for finding holistic health.

Last year, I was asked to read adrienne maree brown’s Emergent Strategy. In it, brown draws from the writings of Octavia Butler, observations of the natural world, poetry, and more to create a model that allows us to align ourselves with the constant changes in the world in a transformative way. I have revisited this book many times over the past year and reflected on how I can practice what I learned in my personal and professional life. In this post, I will address her chapter titled “nonlinear and iterative: the pace and pathways of change” and consider how it informs my understanding of therapeutic change.

Change can be intimidating. And when change occurs unexpectedly, it can feel like getting handed a cold read in front of an expectant audience. But, paradoxically, the only constant in life is change itself. So, when life forces you to change, what will be your choice? Here are some suggestions on how best to cash in on the change life brings your way, so you can come out even stronger on the other side.

Managing one’s mental health is hard enough as it is, so with many of us feeling like our lives have been turned upside down by this pandemic, it has become easier than ever to feel overwhelmed and alone. However, I prefer to think of managing my mental health as a journey rather than an uphill battle. As with any journey, there is value in progress; no step forward is too small as long as it brings you closer to your destination.

I’m standing in a hole filled with disgusting muck and rancid water. The type where every shift of my feet leads to a guttural squelch and slosh. I can feel my toes sinking deeper into the grime which is inching up my calves to my knees to my thighs. I’ve been here for years. I’ve become resigned to the stink, the slime, the sloshing, the sucking.

I live in a hurricane and the bunker I made long ago is flooding. I can’t tell you when the storm started or when the leaks began to appear. I can only tell you that I want the storm to stop.

Unlike the storms that rage along the Eastern coast, this one is all in my head. I have anxiety. My thoughts start to swirl around, faster and faster, until I’m left frozen in the center too dizzy to find a way out.