I used to think healing from trauma was mostly about understanding what happened to you. If I could just map out the origin story—the neglect, the betrayals, the abandonment—I’d be free. I devoured books like The Body Keeps the Score, Waking the Tiger, and Healing Developmental Trauma like a detective looking for the missing piece […]
Spiritual fatigue, existential apathy, or the call to a deeper level of integration? There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show up on your Fitbit. It’s not just tiredness. Not the kind that a nap, a walk, or even a two-week sabbatical will solve. It’s a bone-deep weariness of the soul. A sense that
Some of the most unforgettable characters in literature and film are the ones who feel real to us—messy, layered, and deeply human. But what gives a character that kind of depth? More often than not, it’s their past. Specifically, how that past hurt them. Trauma is a potent engine for character motivation. It shapes how
Why the darkest wounds make the most unforgettable antagonists Some villains are bad because they want power. Others are bad because they hurt — and can’t stop hurting others. If you’re writing a villain who feels like more than a mustache-twirler — someone who believes their behavior is justified, even necessary — then you might
How Spiral Dynamics can reframe your “dark night” as a dawn in disguise You’re not lost. You’re in transit. That crushing existential confusion, the emotional fatigue, the sudden inability to tolerate your job/partner/social feed—what if it isn’t a breakdown? What if it’s a breakthrough? Not in the “you got this, girlboss” way, but in the
We all have one.That inner voice with a clipboard and bad attitude.“You’re not good enough.”“Don’t even try, you’ll only fail.”“Other people can do that. Not you.” Writers know this voice intimately.It’s the voice that stalls your writing, undermines your confidence, and rewrites your rough draft with red pen dipped in acid. But what if I
If you’ve ever had a pair of characters feel a little too agreeable, a little too in sync, like they’re sipping tea from the same soul—well, congrats on writing your inner harmony. But compelling fiction doesn’t live in inner harmony. It lives in dissonance. In the magnetic push and pull of desire, fear, and reaction.
After years of wading through the self-help aisle, devouring spiritual texts, and doing the work (therapy, retreats, breathwork, and journaling prompts with more emotional range than the average indie film), I’ve started to notice a troubling pattern — one that Ken Wilber, ever the cartographer of consciousness, named with clinical precision: the Pre/Trans Fallacy. It’s
If you’ve ever sat in a dark room after an intense conversation, completely absorbed in a flurry of connections your brain refuses to shut down, you might’ve experienced something close to what Stanislav Grof calls a “non-ordinary state of consciousness.” These states—often induced through psychedelics, deep meditation, or practices like holotropic breathwork—are known for their
Coaching an Odyssey of the Mind team is a little like trying to direct a play, run a startup, and referee a glitter fight all at once. Now add in six or seven intensely imaginative, impulsive, distractible kids—some of whom may be neurodivergent—and it starts to feel more like herding cats on roller skates. But
