Last weekend, I wandered through the Wolfville Farmers Market with a simple mission: to find something delicious. It was well past lunchtime, and I was ready for something satisfying; earned after a busy week.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I spotted a sign advertising a chicken gyro wrap: free-range chicken, tzatziki… and a side of Tom Cruise.

I paused. Blinked. Read it again.

Now, I had questions. Was this clever marketing? A joke? Or had I stumbled upon the most creative culinary experience in Nova Scotia? I found myself smiling, already delighted, not by the food, but by the imagination behind it. Whoever created this sign, I thought, must have a wonderfully playful inner world.

Curiosity won. I stepped forward and asked.

The answer? “Not Tom Cruise”, the booth owner explained, “just tomatoes and cucumbers”.

I laughed, out loud, the kind that catches you off guard and comes out louder than expected.

And just like that, a small, ordinary moment became something more.

This is what happens when we’re open to glimmers. According to Deb Dana, they’re micro-moments of joy, safety, or connection. They don’t demand attention; they invite it.

I didn’t leave with a celebrity on the side of my wrap. But I did leave with something better: a lightness, a laugh, and a reminder that sometimes joy shows up when we’re simply willing to notice it.

Warmly,

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

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