We are increasingly bombarded by news of devastating “weather events”; our hearts break for the people, animals, and forests that die or are displaced from their homes due to hurricanes, fires, and floods.  We feel overwhelmed and helpless to be of any use other than to send donations toward relief efforts.  How do we cope with the fact that as one client recently put it, “It seems like the whole world is on fire!”

We can first be kind, gentle with ourselves and allow the shock, grief, or despair that arises.  We may even experience vicarious traumatization as we helplessly stand by, our senses flooded with relentless media disaster imagery.  Watching the trauma drama unfold can be addictive—give yourself (and your nervous system!) a break and ease up on the “bad news.”

Trauma healing requires a “horizontal” and a “vertical” approach.  Reaching out to friends, family, a therapist, or a spiritual community for support is a horizontal form of “external regulation” that calms the nervous system and helps us feel connected, safe, and secure.

Internal regulation—like meditation, mindful breathing, journaling, a hand over the heart and belly, a warm bath, a walk outside in nature—are forms of “vertical” (inner, self-generated) healing that lower polyvagal fight/flight system arousal and increase calming, grounding, and a sense of safety in the here and now.

Spring Forest Qigong Master Chunyi Lin recommends that when these sad, painful world crises occur, we avoid descending into fear and instead send the energy of love to the disaster site.  Everything is energy; quantum physics has confirmed this.  Energy follows thought:  what we focus on we intensify.  It will be more helpful to send the higher energies of light, love, and spirit to these areas than to send the energy of fear.

It’s also OK to cry, to grieve the enormous losses involved including that of human and animal life, trees, hillsides, roads, homes, shoreline, whole towns wiped out in a flash!  Our tears of compassion open the heart, heal the soul, and help us see that we indeed are all one.

All is not lost!  There are wonderful podcasts and shows outside of mainstream media that focus on innovative initiatives for restoring nature, human rights, and vibrant community after seemingly irreversible destruction—like The Age of Nature on PBS, a series that focuses on how a new awareness of nature is helping to restore desecrated ecosystems once thought lost.

Give yourself the gift of focusing on what’s going well, not just “what’s wrong”.  When we care for ourselves during these turbulent times, our tank is full and we have more energy and capacity to serve others.

You might wonder if I’ve gone off my rocker.  Rubber duckies can help you heal?  Yes they certainly can!  Many clients will attest that this form of trauma therapy can be beneficial for easing PTSD symptoms, healing the child within,  and increasing self awareness of emotional states of being.

OK how the heck is this possible you’re asking.  It’s simple:  it’s all about “Parts Work”.  In my trauma healing therapy practice one of the modalities I incorporate is the use of  rubber ducks to represent, or “externalize”, the various PTSD/traumatized emotional parts or aspects of our personality.  For example, rather than only talking “about” overwhelming anxiety, we can speak directly to the anxious part to better understand why it’s triggered and what it needs to feel safe and calm.

This  allows us to clearly see, hear and understand “outcast” parts (like fear, grief, and shame), which parts are in conflict with each other (like the “nice girl” part in a tug of war with the protective “fight” part), and which parts helped us to survive.

The 2015 Pixar hit film Inside Out did a wonderful job depicting internal emotional parts.  Many of us could relate to Riley, the 11 year old animated character in the film, and the emotional parts swirling and competing for attention in her mind.  And what were the major lessons of this movie?  That all inner parts must be honored, each has an important role and function, and they need to work with each other as a team rather than against each other.

So why rubber ducks and how does this work?

—Duckies are cute and non-threatening; they add humor and a light touch to the hard work of trauma healing.

—Many people have a traumatized, “parentified child” inside who was so busy caretaking the wounded adults in the family they had no time to play—the rubber ducks give that inner child a sense of safety, fun, and freedom to play.

—PTSD triggers can hijack us with overwhelming fear, anger, and shame.  Externalizing these Fight/Flight parts with the ducks gives us emotional space to slow down and witness these old trauma emotions from a distance, rather than becoming them or defensively acting them out.

Right before our eyes we can watch the healing and repair of early attachment wounding.  Through a form of gestalt role play with the ducks, the wise Adult self can finally see and hear the wounded child’s emotions and triggers, develop an internal relationship with her, and have empathy and compassion for her pain.  This in turn calms the nervous system, PTSD symptoms abate, and the inner child feels more safe, secure, and protected.  The wise Adult self can now function and show up in the world with more ease, happiness, empowerment, and authenticity.

It’s truly remarkable.

Slowly but surely, one mindful exploration of the emotional parts after another, early traumatic attachment is transformed into a sheltering, comforting cloth of inner secure attachment.

This is a meaningful, wonderful gift for the mind, heart and soul.  A sense of wholeness and inner security arises.  If Sensorimotor psychotherapy, EMDR, the Flash Technique, and Parts Work—with or without the rubber ducks—resonates with you, I invite you to expand your notion of what might be possible in your healing process, and take the leap.

The new year is often launched with joy, exuberance, and fresh resolutions.  We’re inspired to become a “new and improved” version of ourselves. Yet the rhythms of nature, and winter itself, teach us that winter is also a time of rest, stillness, and reflection.  This piece by an unknown author invites us to light a candle and reflect upon the many threads of life we have woven together in the previous year.

Warp and Weft: Spinning Strength from Winter’s Shadows

The eighth day of Yule belongs to the loom—the place where strength is woven from what seems fragile, frayed, or broken. Winter is not just a season of stillness; it is a master weaver, pulling threads from the frostbitten earth, from the roots gripping frozen soil, from the branches that do not shatter under snow but bend and bow, enduring.

Strength is not born in a blaze of glory. It is spun quietly, in the dark corners of hardship, in the deliberate movements of hands pulling thread through tension. It’s the weft that holds the warp together, the connective tissue that turns the disparate strands into something whole. On this day, we honor the weavers of strength, the ones who create when there seems to be nothing left, the ones who understand that resilience is not a single act of defiance but a long, patient process of repair.

In the old stories, the loom was a sacred tool, a portal between worlds. The Norns wove the fates of gods and mortals alike, their hands moving into time with the pulse of life and death. Skadi, goddess of winter and the wild, embodies this weaving of strength from starkness. She stalks the snow-covered mountains, carving her path in ice, spinning survival from the sharp edges of the earth.

Today, the loom is also yours. Think of the threads you’ve carried through this year—some vibrant, some worn thin, some tangled beyond recognition. Strength is not in discarding them but in weaving them together. Take what the year has given you, even its broken strands, and find the pattern within the chaos.

This is a day to light candles for the unseen weavers—your ancestors, whose strength you carry in your bones; the earth, whose roots weave life beneath the frost; the wild ones who taught us that strength is not in domination but in adaptation. Offer your gratitude. Whisper your blessings. Watch as the light flickers, illuminating the threads you might have missed.

And don’t forget: no loom is solitary. Strength is shared. It is spun between neighbors, braided between friends, threaded through acts of care. It is the quilt you wrap around a loved one, the meal you share, the kind word offered when the world feels barren. Today, give something of yourself to the weaving of others.

The loom of winter teaches us that strength is not a straight line but a web, a network of resilience. On this eighth day of Yule, take your place at the loom. Add your thread. Spin strength from the shadows. What you weave now will carry you forward, through the dark, and into the light.

(with gratitude to the unknown author)

Many of us were raised to avoid painful endings and goodbyes. Yet the sadness of a “goodbye” is just as important to honor as the joy of a graduation, retirement, or birth. If we can turn toward grief bravely and with compassion, we discover an opportunity for healing the heart and soul.

Many years ago, I served as a team leader and clinical director of a mental health center.  One day while finishing my last note for the day, a distress call came in from a client.

“Marilyn!” Rosa exclaimed.  “My team just said that after my therapist Julie leaves in a month, she and I can’t ever go out together for a coffee! You’re the clinical director—can’t you bend the rules? My parents died in a car crash when I was seven; my boyfriend left me for a cute guy he fell in love with; and I have to have my dog Mitzi put to sleep in a few days. I hate goodbyes and I can’t say goodbye to Julie.”

So many layers of overwhelming, heart-rending loss for Rosa. It would be easy to say “Sure, go out for coffee with Julie and stay connected.”  Snap your fingers; you’re both at Starbucks and voilá—no more suffering.

Yet I also knew there can be hidden gems waiting to be revealed within endings. Quick fixes can short-circuit the opportunity to learn that endings can also be healing.

When we dread goodbyes, we may desperately hold on—pleading, bargaining for more time, or creating a “pretend” ending. A pretend ending is one where we say goodbye but agree to contact each other in the future—a way to soften the sting of loss and create the illusion of ongoing relationship.  It gives us the sense “it’s not REALLY over”.

Like “We’re divorced but she she still comes over for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and I walk her dog.” No real “goodbye” here!

While this kind of ending may temporarily buffer us from pain, it can cause more anguish for ourselves and others down the road. We miss the opportunity to truly let go and learn from death, from a “real” goodbye.

Respect and honor the ending that’s happening right here, right now. Allow it the grace, the truth of being over: with a spouse, sister, parent, child, friend.

If you found a sweet bird, and clutched it tight to your chest, could you see or hear it? Could it even breathe? But if you open and extend your hand outward, ahh—you can see the bird, hear it sing, let it stretch its wings. It may even choose to fly away.

It is a priceless gift to let each other go. And if you can, co-create a healing ending.

With Rosa, I suggested that she and her therapist Julie create a healing goodbye:

—acknowledge the reality and sadness of the impending mutual loss—Julie leaving the agency and Rosa losing her as a therapist.

—allow the emotions to arise and be freely felt—like grief, anger, sadness, and fear.  Befriend sorrow like a crying child you would hold and comfort in your arms.

—share not only heartache but the love, joy and gratitude of having met and traveled for awhile on the sacred path of Life. Talk about what you learned and the gifts you received from each other that you will carry with you after you part.

—create a small ritual together, like painting a mandala, lighting a candle, crafting a beaded necklace or bracelet that you give each other, reading a poem, or sharing food. Ritual infuses the ending with beauty and spirit and honors the relationship.

Every day, everywhere around us, the world is pulsing with endings and new beginnings—the beautiful music of life.   We’re resilient and have survived hundreds of “goodbye’s” in our lifetime; we intrinsically know how to move on.  We can approach the portal of loss with reverence, honoring endings as a doorway to new and often unexpected people, places, and experiences that continuously enrich our “soil”, our soul, and help us to thrive and grow.

Life has a habit of throwing us curve balls—unexpected illness, job loss, the ending of a relationship.  We find ourselves spiraling down a deep well of fear, anger, or shame. We feel “done to”, victimized.

Or we might start the day with negative thoughts: my back hurts, oh no it’s raining, the traffic will be bad, there’s no cream for the coffee, I’ll never pass the exam.  We focus on “what’s wrong” in an attempt to feel in control.  This is actually OK—it’s just what the mind does, and it’s human to be triggered.

The good news: it’s possible to transform emotional negativity into a positive state.  Which, through the power of your intention, can have a positive impact on your challenging situation.

The solution?  FLIP IT!

How?  First, simply allow the negative thoughts and emotions. This is self-love.  You’re taking time, on the fly, to listen to yourself without judgement.

The next step is to FLIP IT.  Take one negative thought or expectation and turn it around, using language that sounds like the positive outcome has already happened.

Three examples:

Negative thought:  “This meeting I have to go to is going to be awful.”  Flip it: “That meeting was fun, easy, successful and everyone felt heard.”

Negative thought:  “I hate this rush-hour traffic I’m so bored”.  Flip it: “I got out and danced like crazy on the hood of my car like those dancers in “La La Land”—ha wouldn’t that be amazing but probably outside your comfort zone!  How about “I relaxed and enjoyed listening to good music during the traffic jam.”

Negative thought:  “I’m freaked out about going to the dentist—it’s going to hurt and my blood pressure will be through the roof.”  Flip it: “I’m relieved the dental trip was so fast, relaxing, and pain-free.”

It’s really quite simple.  Next time you’re in a funk, FLIP IT!  Expect the best. Like the frog Buddha up there at the top of the page.  Clearly it’s the poster child for “Flipping It”:  stuck up to its neck in snow and ice, sappy smile, contentedly expecting the onset of spring.