Recently, one of the veterans in our Landing Strong community generously brought in some rhubarb from his garden. There is something special about receiving food that someone has grown and shared. It carries a sense of connection, care, and community that goes well beyond the ingredient itself.

I took some home and soon found myself standing over the stove, slowly stewing a delicious batch of rhubarb. As the aroma filled the kitchen, my mind wandered to a question I had never really considered before: Is rhubarb a fruit or a vegetable?

As it turns out, botanically speaking, rhubarb is a vegetable. It is the stalk of a plant, much like celery. Yet despite this scientific classification, many of us think of it as a fruit because it is commonly used in pies, jams, and desserts.

The story becomes even more interesting when you look at it from a legal perspective. In 1947, a New York court legally classified rhubarb as a fruit. The reason? Fruit was taxed at a lower rate than vegetables. The classification had little to do with biology and everything to do with how people wanted the plant to be treated.

That got me thinking.
How often do we do the same thing with people?

In particular, I thought about those living with occupational stress injuries, including Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). We often debate what PTSD is. Is it a lifelong condition? A disorder? A disability? Or is it a predictable and normal human response to exposure to extraordinary adversity and trauma?

The answer may be more complex than any single label can capture. Labels can be useful. They help us access services, create understanding, and provide a framework for treatment. But labels can also shape expectations. They can influence how others see us, and perhaps more importantly, how we see ourselves.

The rhubarb didn’t change because a court called it a fruit. It remained exactly what it always was. Likewise, a person is not defined by a diagnosis. A diagnosis may describe an experience, but it does not determine a future. With appropriate care, support, meaningful connection, and thoughtful attention, many people learn to manage the impacts of trauma and build rich, purposeful lives.

Sometimes the most important question is not what something is called, but what helps it flourish.

Warmly,

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

Warmly,

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

Last Friday was a special day at Landing Strong as we gathered for our Annual Community Celebration and Artisanal Fair at Walker’s Restaurant in Windsor.

In the midst of our busy lives and important work, it can be easy to keep looking ahead to the next goal, the next project, or the next challenge. But there is tremendous value in taking a moment to pause, reflect, and appreciate the view.

Over the past year, our community has continued to grow in remarkable ways. Together, we have created opportunities, built meaningful connections, supported one another through challenges, and celebrated successes both big and small.

When I look back on the year, I am filled with pride; not only in what we have accomplished as an organization, but in the strength, resilience, and generosity of our members.  Some of our greatest achievements cannot be measured by numbers alone. They are found in the relationships formed, the confidence gained, the goals reached, and the moments of belonging experienced throughout our community. These peak experiences remind us why our work matters.

The collective contribution of the Landing Strong community is truly staggering. Every member, volunteer, partner, and supporter plays a role in creating positive change, and last Friday, we celebrated that shared impact.

Thank you to our artisans, musical performers, staff, board members and of course, Landing Strong community members for being a part of it.

A special thanks to our funders from DND, Office of Addictions and Mental Health, MHFNS, VAC, HICC and Dollar-A-Day Foundation for making this all possible.   

As we pause to appreciate the view, I encourage everyone to take a moment to reflect back on the journey, appreciate how far we have come, and celebrate all that we have accomplished together.

Warmly,

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

There’s beauty just around the corner. Sometimes quite literally.

We live in a world that is deeply connected. The pace can feel relentless. Notifications buzz, inboxes fill, calendars overflow, and before we know it, our days can become more about reacting than truly living. Lately, I’ve been feeling an intentional pull to push back against that rhythm.

This month, I am creating more opportunities for pause. I am resisting the urge to turn on my computer or check emails on weekends. Instead, I am choosing to slow down and allow the beauty around me to fully pervade my senses. I’m exploring nature, wandering through surrounding communities, and making room for unplanned moments.

During a recent weekend’s wandering through Wolfville and Yarmouth, I was struck by the murals tucked around street corners and quiet spaces. Bright colours, thoughtful artistry, and stories painted onto brick walls reminded me that beauty often waits patiently for us to notice it. Not in grand gestures, but in everyday places we rush past too quickly.

I also noticed something else: when I slowed down, I became more open. More chatty. More willing to linger in conversation with people who were strangers only moments before. Those happenstance connections felt grounding and deeply human. I am embracing a slower movement; one that values presence over productivity and curiosity over urgency.

Perhaps this is your invitation, too: to slow down, turn the corner, and notice the beauty that has been waiting for you all along.

Warmly,

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

 This past Monday, six enthusiastic participants from Landing Strong’s Community Connections program gathered for a community clean-up day. The weather could not have been more inviting, and neither could the spirit of those who arrived eager to make a positive difference in our local community.

At first glance, picking up litter may seem like a small act. Yet for many of our participants, opportunities to contribute carry a much deeper significance. Recovery is not simply about reducing symptoms or managing challenges. It is about rebuilding identity, rediscovering purpose, and carving out a new sense of who we can be beyond the uniform.

One of our veteran volunteers reflected on the experience:
“I woke up that morning feeling excited for the first time in a long time. In the past, responsibilities often brought anxiety and fear. But this time was different. I was looking forward to getting together with like-minded people and doing something productive. It may seem small, but it was a massive win for me. It has been a very long time since I have looked forward to anything. I feel like I’m getting my feelings back.”

The desire to contribute is a fundamental human need. It allows us to feel connected to something larger than ourselves and reminds us that we still have value, purpose, and gifts to offer.

This week, our community became a little cleaner. More importantly, six individuals took another step forward, defined not only by healing, but by contribution, connection, and a renewed sense of possibility.

I feel proud to count myself as a member of the team.

Warmly,

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

I recently had the privilege of facilitating a five-day Veterans Couples Retreat in Kingston, Ontario. Since then, I’ve been reflecting deeply on the courage it takes to choose connection when disconnection might feel safer.

We know trauma doesn’t only affect the serving member. Its impact ripples through families, relationships, and homes. Partners often carry invisible burdens of uncertainty, loneliness, and emotional exhaustion alongside the ones they love. When conversations become difficult, avoidance can feel like the easier path. Yet we also know that avoiding pain rarely protects us from it. More often, it prolongs injury and slowly destabilizes relationships that were once grounded in love, trust, and hope.

Throughout the week, I witnessed four couples doing the brave work of reclaiming their gold: the strengths, values, and qualities that first drew them together. By leaning into vulnerability with honesty and courage, they opened themselves to the possibility of healing, growth, and renewed connection.

Recovery is not about pretending the storms never happened. It is about learning that even after the darkest clouds, light can still break through.

On our final evening together in the restaurant, I looked out the window to see the skies parting. Dark clouds gave way to sunshine and a rainbow stretched across the water. It felt like a powerful metaphor for the work these couples had undertaken all week; proof that when people are willing to do the hard work of recovery, hope has room to return.

Some gold truly is worth looking for.

Warmly,

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