Since returning from Tanzania, I’ve had to admit something my mind was slower to accept than my body: I’m a little… stiff. In the spirit of being proactive (and perhaps a touch optimistic), I signed up for a couple of Yin and Restorative Yoga classes each week. Gentle, grounding, good for the nervous system. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, this week, somewhere between surrender and stillness, my knee had other ideas.

What followed were a few humbling days of hobbling; when walking felt less like a given and more like a negotiation. There is, it turns out, no glory in injuring oneself during restorative yoga. No dramatic story, no hard-earned badge. If anything, the only thing truly bruised was my pride.

Terry Biles, a veteran and therapist here at Landing Strong, offered a reframe:

“Just tell people it happened during combat yoga,” he grinned.

I appreciated the spirit of his suggestion; it had a certain edge that my reality lacked.

But beneath the humour was something worth paying attention to. This small misstep (quite literally) has been a quiet reminder of the importance of meeting our bodies where they are, not where they once were.

Muscle memory can be misleading; so can identity. We remember what we used to do with ease and assume it’s still ours to claim.

The truth is, we are not getting younger. Perhaps that’s not the loss we sometimes make it out to be. There is wisdom in recalibrating, in trading intensity for attunement, in choosing compassion over correction.

Perhaps the goal is not to return to who we were, but to care well for who we are now, striving for optimal wellbeing, given this body, this moment, this season.

Even if it comes with a slight limp.

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

This week, we welcomed a new puppy into our home. His name is Finn, a small, bright-eyed American Eskie with a personality that, at least in flashes, shines as brightly as his coat. Thankfully, he is adorable, because the transition has not been as smooth as I had imagined. 

Finn loves Joe. He greets him at the door with enthusiasm: licks, a wagging tail, unfiltered joy. When I arrive home, however, I’m met with something entirely different: a small body tucked into the cupboard, a low growl, uncertainty wrapped in fear. It’s not just me. He seems wary of everyone but Joe. 

Change is hard, especially when you are only 17 weeks old. 

But perhaps Finn is not alone in this struggle. PTSD, after all, is an injury of attachment. It disrupts our sense of trust, safety, power, and control. The instinct, so often, is to retreat; to find a cupboard of our own and stay there. Hidden. Guarded. Protected. 

And yet, healing asks something different of us.It asks us to step forward, even when it feels impossible. 

At Landing Strong, I have the privilege of witnessing this courage every day. Men and women showing up, leaning into connection, finding moments of laughter and meaning again. This is the work: messy, brave, and deeply human. 

I find myself hoping that little Finn, in his own time, might discover what I see so often in others: that safety can be rebuilt, that trust can grow, and that stepping out of the cupboard is where healing begins

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

Good Friday arrives each year as a quiet pause point. The long weekend brings with it time to consider new possibilities and opportunities as the earth slowly comes back to life.

Whether Easter weekend holds spiritual meaning for you, family traditions, time outdoors, or simply provides a chance to rest, there’s something about this time of year that naturally invites reflection.

After a long winter, the shift into spring feels even more noticeable with longer evenings, softer morning light, and signs of growth returning around us.

At Landing Strong, we often talk about change as something steady and possible. Renewal doesn’t have to be big. Sometimes it’s just noticing what feels ready for a fresh start. A new routine. A conversation you’ve been meaning to have. Time outside. Time to reset.

Good Friday can be one of those gentle moments to check in with yourself and ask: What might I want more of from this season in front of me?

Spring reminds us that forward movement happens in small ways.

Wherever this long weekend finds you, I hope there’s space for rest, connection, and a little renewal of your own

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

There’s a kind of tired that follows meaningful work. It’s something that comes from deep within.   

The past three weeks in Tanzania were incredible: Holes were dug. Trees were planted. A classroom foundation was built; something lasting, built by many hands and a shared vision.

We summitted a mountain together, step by step, discovering that the climb asks as much of one’s spirit as it does of one’s body.

In between the work, there were moments that will never be forgotten: laughing around a campfire under a canopy of stars, sharing meals that stretched long into conversation, and finding connection in a shared purpose that carried us forward each day.

And now, we are home.

But returning takes time. Not just adjusting to a new time zone, but reacclimatizing to a different pace, a different rhythm of life. There’s a quiet dissonance in it. I’ve felt it myself, that sense of being just slightly outside, finding my way back in.

It brings to mind the transitions faced by military members and first responders after deployment, returning to what is meant to feel familiar, yet somehow isn’t, at least not right away.

We are all changed by our experiences. We come home carrying more than memories. We carry perspective. Gratitude. And a deeper understanding of what it means to rely on one another.

If you’re navigating a transition of your own, you’re not alone. And it’s not too late to step into something that helps you move forward, together.

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

The past week has been nothing short of tremendous. As a team, we pulled together in ways that only a shared challenge can reveal. Standing on the slopes of Kilimanjaro, we were rewarded with the kind of sunrises that stop you in your tracks. Vast skies, endless horizons, and that quiet, humbling reminder of how small, and yet how capable, we truly are.

Ronnie and Kell pushed through to successfully summit Stella Point, an extraordinary achievement that reflects grit and determination.

Jordan, just 500 meters shy, still experienced something remarkable; watching the sunrise from high above the world before altitude sickness forced a difficult but wise decision.

Each journey looked different, but each was powerful.

Now, sitting in a hotel lobby waiting for a bus to take us to the airport, it all feels a little surreal. Just days ago, we were climbing one of the toughest mountains on earth. And it makes me pause and ask: why do I keep choosing these challenges?

Because they change us.

Summiting a mountain is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Yet it’s in that struggle that I find clarity; where I redefine who I am and what I’m capable of becoming.

This trip meant so much because it wasn’t just my transformation, I witnessed it in others.

I’ve never been prouder of our Landing Strong team. The training, the commitment, the courage. Every single person showed up and, in their own way, rewrote their story.

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

Mount Kilimanjaro is teaching quickly. The air is thinning. The pace has slowed. Every step now requires intention. But no one is summiting alone, we do it together.

What is moving me most in this moment is not the altitude, but the unity.

Veterans and first responders are no strangers to adversity. They understand that strength is collective. I am watching teammates adjust their pace, offer steady encouragement, and quietly ensure no one falls behind.

This is resilience in real time. Not powering ahead. But staying connected.

The mountain is holding up a mirror for our life, leadership, and the healing within. We rise higher when we are willing to lean on one another.

There is no weakness in asking for support. There is wisdom in it. And perhaps that is the greatest lesson unfolding on this climb.

You do not need a mountain to challenge yourself or try something new. What summit do you want to climb? Who are you climbing with right now?

Community is not a luxury. It is how we rise.

We will reach the summit in three days, with a lifetime of experience behind us, and the view from the heavens directly in front of us.

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

The past few days have been incredible. We’ve seen a wide array of animals with each game drive offering something new and unforgettable.

Two favorites from today: a pride of lions resting together, calm and powerful, and a troupe of baboon babies playing mischievously, tumbling over one another without a care. Strength and joy, side by side.

We’re adjusting to the slower, steady rhythm of African time. Nothing is rushed. There’s space to pause, to notice, to simply be.

The rains have changed the landscape. The dusty red soil I expected has been replaced by lush green earth, full of life and renewal.

Krista, you are missed. We know you had to step away last minute because of a medical emergency, but please know we carry you with us in every moment.

I am grateful to be here, and proud to be sharing it with both students and members of our Landing Strong community (who incidentally have been amazing).

Please know that we carry all members of the extended Landing Strong community with us in our hearts as we forge on this wonderful adventure together.

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

Tomorrow, we embark on our mission to Tanzania, Africa.

The bags are packed. The training is done. And somewhere between excitement and uncertainty, there’s a quiet question: Am I ready?

Every meaningful journey begins this way.

As our team prepares to leave for Tanzania, I see it…anticipation, pride, and yes, trepidation. Challenge and change have a way of stirring old doubts. Mountains do that. So does stepping into unfamiliar communities with open hands and open hearts.

But courage is not the absence of uncertainty. It is choosing to move forward despite potential fears.

This trip is about answering an internal call; to connect, to serve, to build, and to climb.

The most transformative moments in life begin with the decision to challenge ourselves.

We are excited to share updates on our Facebook and Instagram Landing Strong pages. Please join us on this journey. (Find us on Facebook here and Instagram).

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

Today, I sat across from a Veteran who is struggling.  Not because he lacks strength, but because he doesn’t yet have the level of support he needs to truly recover. 

In my work, assessments are often described in clinical terms: symptoms, timelines, diagnoses, treatment plans. But what I experienced today was something much more human. I had the privilege of hearing this Veteran’s life story.  And in doing so, I was able to understand the impact of his military experiences within the context of his larger life. Pieces that once seemed disconnected; reactions, patterns, emotions that felt confusing even to him, suddenly began to make sense. 

It is never helpful to compare the “size” of our injury to the people standing around us, as though pain can be measured by what is visible. The truth is, only we can truly know the meaning of what happened to us, because only we know our full story. 

And often, what seems to “not make sense” starts to make sense when we allow ourselves to look more closely, and deeply, with compassion instead of judgment. That process can be hard. It can feel exposing. It can stir grief, anger, and memories we’ve spent years trying to outrun. 

But it is also a doorway. 

When we begin to understand the “why” beneath our responses, we are no longer trapped in them. We become able to meet ourselves with clarity, and from that place, recovery becomes possible; not as a quick fix, but as a steady return to health, connection, and hope.

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong

There are moments when the world feels too loud, too close. When the news carries activating stories, something inside us tightens. We want connection, desperately. And at the same time, we want distance. Safety. Control.

Recently, in our Community Connections program, a new member joined for the very first time. That alone took courage. She didn’t say much at first, but when it came time to create, she painted a door mat covered in hearts. Inside were the words: “go away.”

Instead of stepping back, we leaned in, smiling.

That mat said what so many people feel but struggle to articulate. The longing to be held, understood, and seen, paired with the fear that letting anyone too close could hurt, overwhelm, or undo us. Keeping people out feels safe. It’s familiar.

But safety, while protective, can also be isolating.

Letting people in is riskier. It asks us to sit with vulnerability, to trust that others can meet us with care rather than harm. It invites the possibility of healing.

That mat now sits as a quiet teacher. A reminder that ambivalence is not weakness. It’s honesty. And that showing up, even while wanting to push the world away, is an act of profound strength.

Connection doesn’t mean abandoning our boundaries. It means choosing, gently and on our own terms, to open a door just enough to let the light in.

Warmly,

Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych.
Executive Director, Landing Strong