In 2 days, I fly to Scotland for the second time to walk the iconic 96-mile West Highland Way with my best friend, Judith. We have been planning this trip for many months, we trained in all sorts of weather, we bought all the things, and the time is finally here. As I wait to begin our journey, I ask myself, Why am I walking this path? What is my intention?

My father taught me to love nature, and he could only dream of a trip like this, crippled as he was by his fear of flying and my mother's mental illness. I will walk for him.

Fear was embedded in me by both of my parents, the result of their traumas. It kept them feeling safe. I spent more than half my life caged by fear. It too made me feel safe. I have healed that wound. I will walk to honor my brave spirit.

Judith and I have walked our life together for 33 years. Over the decades of our precious friendship, we have both loved mightily and lost mightily. We will walk to honor those who have passed, those who made us into the gentle warriors we are today. We will walk 96 miles because we can.

The rugged beauty of Scotland stole my heart in 2023, reaching deep inside my soul and showing me I once lived among her blue lochs and rolling hills. I will walk the gorgeous Highlands path as the final steps of my healing journey. I will leave behind all the pain, all the wounds, all the tears, all the shame and guilt and betrayal, and step strongly and peacefully into my rebirth.

Life is so fleeting. Say yes to your heart 💜 

Love,

Heather

All his lessons

My father died 4 years and 3 months ago. In the 56 years that we spent together, I knew him to be kind, gentle, sad, funny, patient, athletic, brilliant, and supremely loving. In today's world, there is a lot of research and discussion about trauma. My father was no stranger to trauma, but he grew up in the 1930s and 1940s when no one recognized the ill effects severe trauma could have.

This morning on my way to work, I listened to a podcast about resilience. The guest spoke of resilience being not a trait we are born with but rather a muscle we build through our challenging life experiences. Trauma in all forms creates the possibility for resilience if sufficient protective measures are in place. She mentioned several very powerful ways to create the pathway to resilience: participating in sports (being part of a community), spending time in nature, and finding places of refuge (such as public libraries). I almost ran my car off the road.

My father was a quiet man who never told me what to do, hardly gave advice, and stood out as a gifted listener. Meanwhile he demonstrated every single day what his spirit guided him to do to heal the great losses he experienced as a child. He played on softball and volleyball teams for 60 years. He drove to the forest preserve every weekday at lunch to "forest bathe" before anyone used that term, and he took us to the woods every chance he could. He was an avid library goer from age 5 until 88, when Covid shut them all down. 

Thank you, dad, for all the lessons you shared with me, in your quiet, unassuming way. Thank you for teaching me the healing effects of movement communities, book communities, and nature. I find myself in these places too, I have healed my own trauma in those spaces, and I continue to feel close to you because you led me there. 

May you strengthen your resilience muscle in your own ways.

Love,

Heather

Am I "Healed"?

When I wrote the first draft of my memoir in 2019, I thought I had gone as far as I needed to go on my "healing journey." My anxiety was under control, I had forgiven my mother, and I loved myself. What else did I need to learn? Lol, right?

Over the next 6 years, I endured COVID-19, the death of my father, the near loss of my husband, my third burnout, the death of my mother, and estrangement from someone I had once trusted with my whole heart. Each of these experiences brought me to my knees, challenged my beliefs and patterns, grew my resilience, and taught me life-changing lessons. I am now many miles farther on my path, and I have healed many more of my childhood wounds. Am I healed now?

I recently led my fourth 200-hour yoga teacher training. This training was different because I co-led it with two extraordinary women who were leading a YTT for the first time. We were friends when the training began, and now we are sisters. Over the 6 months of training, I taught them how to teach a training, and they taught me so much more. 

In my family of origin, expressing my anger was not tolerated, and conflicts were hardly ever resolved with healthy, open communication. Most of my life, I have feared conflict in relationships. Teacher trainings are a safe container to discover and challenge our ways of being, and they are exhilarating and exhausting to lead. A few times during our training, we three leaders bumped into each other, we felt angry, and our feelings got hurt. And then the most remarkable thing happened. We came together and talked about it. We shared why we were angry, why we felt hurt, we saw the others' perspective, we owned our part in the conflict, we apologized, and we MOVED ON, feeling closer than ever before and knowing our own selves a little better.

I will be forever grateful that these two beautiful, wise young women taught this 60-year-old crone that there is always room to grow and learn, that healing wounds is possible at any age, and that I'm lovable when I'm messy and worthy of forgiveness. I will be forever grateful that these soul sisters taught me that conflict is not to be feared but rather a wonderful opportunity for connection.

Am I healed now? Probably not, and that's okay. I look forward to my next lesson in this great school of life.

Love,

Heather

The Andness of Mother's Day

Last year, Mother's Day arrived on the heels of my mother's quiet death. Painful events that followed her passing left me shocked and angry. Mother's Day as a daughter felt hollow, as I contemplated her conditional love for me.  And it felt utterly joyful as a mother of two daughters who planned an elaborate surprise lakefront picnic just for me.

One year later, Mother's Day arrives with a familiar tug-of-war between gratitude and grief. Gratitude for the loving friendships that I cultivated and now share with my darling daughters. Gratitude for our laughter, our ease, our unconditional love. And also grief. Grief for what was never, ever possible, no matter how hard I tried, because of her trauma. Grief for all I have lost since her death because she couldn't truly see me and shared her blindness with others.

Doing the emotional and spiritual work to break the cycle of generational harm has led to freedom, self-respect, power, and peace. And today, and for several days now, there is also sadness. Despite all my work along this healing journey, sometimes I still forget and try to outrun the sad--distracting myself with chores, social media, busyness. When I finally remember and get quiet and still, I remember the way and allow myself to hold my sorrow in my loving hands with presence and compassion. I wasn't seen by her because her pain blinded her, and that is a sadness that deserves and needs to be felt. And in creating space for feeling, I am seen and cared for and healed once more. And all that is left is gratitude.

With love to all who struggle on Mother's Day, I see you.

Heather

He would be proud

Many people ask me, “How long did it take you to write your book?” The first draft, 4 months. The 10 edits, 6 years later, 4 months. Then they ask, “Why did you wait for 6 years?” Because I knew my journey to peace and loving myself would not be well received by my mother. I was well trained to keep the peace.

Today, I got to thinking, my mother always overshadowed my father. Her emotions muted his. Her energy swallowed him. I never until today thought, how would my father have responded to my book? If I could read it to him right now, what would he say? I imagine it would go something like this:

“You did a really fine job, Heth. You were always so sensitive and thoughtful, and you never gave yourself enough credit.” And then he would laugh at himself for saying “fornicate in the hall” and “throw the goddamn ball,” and we would laugh together about the way certain memories last forever. Then he would stroke my face as he read about his death, and he would thank me for the cherry tree and the “pa bench.” And then he would say, “Nice job with the beach house. Keep riding that bike as long as you can.”

He wouldn’t be mad.
He wouldn’t make it about him.
He would be quiet and humble.
He would be grateful that I know peace.
He would be so very proud.

Book launch party

Yesterday I hosted my first book launch party with the help of my daughter Hannah, my friend Judith, and my dear husband Bob. I always get a little nervous when I host a gathering. What if people are too busy and no one shows up? I know it's not personal. Yoga taught me that. I try to stay nonattached while also being human and hoping people show up.

The people in my life showed up. And it was so beautiful. The energy of celebration was palpable and somewhat humbling. I have worked for so long to birth this book, it has become part of me. People's enthusiasm reminded me that writing a published memoir really is a big deal and is something to be really proud of. So I'm showing up for myself too.

Reading excerpts of my story out loud in front of 40+ people might sound terrifying. I loved it. What's more, I loved getting to interact with my people and draw out THEIR stories and the emotions connected to our criss-crossing paths. My people told me I am "brave" and "courageous" to share so much with such vulnerability. I don't know another way to be.

This author journey is exceptional. I didn't expect it to be so fun and so rewarding. I'm ready to start planning my next event so I can expand out from my precious community to meet new faces and hear more overlapping stories, bringing strangers together to feel our shared humanity.

As an English major and avid book reader, I have always believed in the power of books to bring people together. As a new author, I am so deeply grateful for my readers. Thank you thank you thank you.

Love,

Heather

Do I want to sell a million books?

When people hear that I wrote a book, they congratulate me and offer praise. While I deeply appreciate their lovely words and kindness, writing my memoir was a deeply humbling experience. It was a heartbreaking journey of processing and stepping forward from the darkness in my life AND it was an act of service.

My publisher asked whether my goal is to sell as many books as possible. Anyone who knows me well knows I’ve never been motivated by money. No, I don’t care how much money I make. What I DO care about is this:

I want my book to find the hands and hearts of people who need it.

I want to share my raw and authentic hero’s journey with anyone struggling in the worlds of addiction, abuse, anxiety, trauma, low self-esteem, or high sensitivity.

I want people to read my book and feel less lost and alone and more seen and understood.

I want the two decades I spent seeking, discovering, and embodying my blessed healing practices to serve as the roadmap I wish I had had.

I want people to read my story and share it with their loved ones who they know need my story. I want to hear stories about readers helping their friends heal. That is the currency I seek.

I don’t want fame or glory or attention or accolades. I want to make a difference in people’s lives. I want my journey to have served a purpose—I want to spread self-compassion, self-love, and healing as far as I can.

In peace,

Heather