There they are. Crocuses, snowdrops and daffodils, pushing their way to sunlight, oblivious of everything that has transpired during this past year.
With reassuring predictability and beauty, they remind us that hope is just around the corner.
Stay the course.
Take a moment to breathe in the fresh fragrance.
Notice the rich colours.
Like prickly bears after a long hibernation we’re eager to be roaming freely. Reconnecting with long lost family and friends. I vow to remain patient, tolerant and kind, grateful for the vaccinations that will once again return a semblance of normalcy to our lives.
Giving thanks to all those who have worked so tirelessly to keep us fed, healthy and safe.
Warm regards,
Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych. Executive Director, Landing Strong
No matter how long your journey appears to be, there is never more than this: one step, one breath, one moment… Now. – Eckhart Tolle
Many of you who know me know that my family is strongly connected to Africa. We’ve taken school groups to Kenya and Tanzania, both for community service and a trek up to the top of Kilimanjaro. My son Kyle, my daughter Mackenzie, and I have done Kili twice. Joe, my husband, eight times. Each time, leading a group of trusting students.
Park rangers tell us that, generally speaking, half of the travellers who try don’t summit. Our groups average a 98% success rate. Here are some of the things we’ve learned that help:
Training takes time, and is done in gradual increments. The journey is made one step at a time, one breath at a time. We start in September for a March climb. Early training hikes are short, weight free, and low intensity. Over time we increase intensity, duration and load.
Working as a team increases the likelihood of success. We train together, walk together, celebrate together, and struggle together.
No headphones are allowed. By staying connected, we talk and encourage one another. The strength of our team is directly related to the strength of the relationships with have with one another.
Every hike involves treats: something home-baked and yummy to look forward to.
Trauma recovery is like a personal expedition to Kilimanjaro. I like to think all of the same principles apply. Working together, we can significantly shift the odds in our favour. As the guides say Pole pole (slow slow)…one step at a time.
Warm regards,
Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych. Executive Director, Landing Strong
Anyone who knows me also knows I love sappy movies with predictable happy endings. I love the feeling of knowing that, in 90 minutes, no matter what challenges are faced, everything will be okay in the end. I think in many ways it’s my philosophy of life. If we keep on journeying, eventually we’ll get home.
Home isn’t always a place is it? It’s often a feeling. Sometimes it’s just being: Listening to music with friends, having a heart to heart over coffee with a friend, or walking in nature with your dog.
Home is a feeling that starts with being comfortable with ourselves. Whatever challenges you may have faced on your journey, we can overcome them together. Join us for a group program, and make your home a supportive community of peers who may have walked similar paths.
Warm regards,
Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych. Executive Director, Landing Strong
Every Christmas Day I know two things will be true:
I will likely eat chocolate for breakfast
I’ll spend time connecting with people I love.
This year, although I’m fairly certain a Toblerone bar will make its way into my stocking, I also know the way I’ll connect with others will look different. With some people, I’ll connect with by phone, others by computer.
The largest community, though, I’ll hold in my thoughts.
When people are thinking about us, we often feel it. Even when we may feel alone, our community is still there. The connection is simply quieter… but not forgotten.
Know that each and every one of you are in our thoughts.
Wishing you a Happy Holiday Season and looking forward to connecting in the New Year.
Warm regards,
Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych. Executive Director, Landing Strong
In this line of work, I’m honoured to hear countless stories of courage in the face of adversity. Recently, as part of our Identity and Transition course, veterans and first responders have been putting pen to paper. Led by our inspired writer Karalee Ann Clerk, participants who claim they can’t write step forward into the spotlight, bearing their hearts to the group. A sacred circle has formed, woven of trust, strength, compassion and courage. Each week my heart grows as I view their lives through the lens of their experiences. I mentioned to the group that if anyone was willing to share their weekly writing with the greater Landing Strong community, I’d be happy to publish it. One of our Veterans (and also a former Corrections Officer) stepped to the plate.
Thank you R.B. for trusting us with this piece of your heart:
I remember not seeing my father’s car. It was a fire engine red 1965 Pontiac Parisienne. A boat. A convertible boat. He loved that car, and that car was gone. I was 7 or 8 and had just returned from school. My mom told me matter of factly, “Your fathers gone and he is not coming back.”
At that young age I knew that despite how bad things had been at home and judging by my family’s current trajectory the dissolution of my parent’s marriage meant things were about to get a whole heck of a lot worse. I was terrified for myself and my siblings.
It was within this moment that I first learned how to numb fear.
I used to think courage is when you think taking an action may hurt you, but you do it anyways because it is in line with your values. It’s pushing yourself through something despite fear.
When I learned how to turn off fear I lost with it my sense of courage. How could I experience courageousness myself when I wouldn’t allow myself to be afraid? Looking back now I wonder if this is part of the reason I found myself in such a mess to begin with. It makes sense – nothing I did could appropriately scare me.
I’ve always been a risk taker. I used to think it was just who I was. I needed a little something extra to get a kick out of life. Were all of these risks really just a scared child trying to get back his sense of fear?
Masking emotions allowed me to excel as a grownup. I joined the army and really found my place. Here was a place where my risk taking could be rewarded.
Trauma followed me out of my childhood and into the army. Looking back it was as if we were marching in lockstep together. After several major events I knew my psyche needed out and I released after a short but exciting three years.
The experimenting that began with alcohol in my early teens turned into a full blown addiction by my early twenties with a trip into rehab for a month. Eventually fate would land me in prison – as a correctional officer where I spent nine years of my life deep-diving into the never ending well of despair that is our criminal justice system.
Of everything that happened to me, in my childhood, the army and working at the jail, I never considered anything I did courageous. How could I. I was never afraid.
This scares me though. Writing this down, wondering how all of you are going to react. Will you accept me? Will you shun me? Will I even read it?
I feel courageous when I share with people. It excites me in a good way. Will something I say resonate? Will the words I speak ignite a feeling in you? One you haven’t felt in a while, or haven’t been able to express?
I was only able to go back to the memory of my father through years of introspection and therapy. It was through the act of recovery that I was able to see just how courageous I was. Not in that moment as a child. Not because I survived all of the perils life could throw at me. But because I could take that moment, that moment I turned off that emotion of fear, and I could have it back.
Sometimes memories can be about something that you didn’t see. Like a red convertible in the driveway. I can go back there now.
I can tell that little boy whose father just left him that everything is going to be alright, and the courageous part about my life is now I’m telling it to you.
R.B.
Warm regards,
Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych. Executive Director, Landing Strong
“Don’t look back, stay in the present,” people may tell you, urging you not to dwell on the difficult times.
Yet…like trickles of rain finding their way through creases in a rock, our minds revisit old scenes and emotions, replaying them in an endless loop that interrupts sleep.
It may feel like you’re haunted, having these old stories replay over and over in your head. In reality, it’s our brain’s way of pointing is to the things we need to examine in order to recover.
“You never know where you’re going unless you know where you’ve been.” A wise man said to me recently. Besides the fact that’s it’s a great lead line for a country Western song, it’s also true. Our brains know that, in order to heal, they need to repeatedly return to the site of injury, working to make sense of what happened. The problem is, when we do it alone, we tend to view our past the same way, over and over. Knowing where you’ve been helps navigate the way forward. Doing so in good company provides a fresh lens through which to view it.
Join the Landing Strong on-line experience. Call now to register for programs starting in November and January. We’ll help you find your way.
Warm regards,
Belinda Seagram, Ph.D., R. Psych. Executive Director, Landing Strong
