Written by Dr. Shawnee Brew
We are in the time of year where the veil is thinnest, there are more hours of darkness in a day than light, and most of us feel that we are bathed in shadow. Shadow work is a contentious term amongst psychologists, depending on your theoretical orientation, often leading people to think of the more “woo woo” work of the early 20th century. For me, the Village Witch of Grounded Therapy, Shadow Work is merely an invitation to sit with the parts of ourselves we’d rather keep tucked into the corner of the deepest, darkest part of our minds. I often see this show up in my office as grief, avoidance, pain, trauma, and the hurts we may have caused others. And after many years I have come to believe that shining light into these corners is some of the most important and powerful work we will ever do. 
Grief in particular has been on my mind of late, because in many ways, it’s the thing I’ve walked most closely with my entire life. Starting at a young age, I knew loss in innumerable ways. From losing extended family, to grandparents, and then in early adulthood, two of my best friends. As such, I haven’t had much of a choice but to befriend grief and figure out how to welcome her with open arms. I first felt grief as a very tiny person, I was five years old watching my dad lean over the kitchen counter, body wracked with sobs as the call that my Aunt Betty had crossed over came through. Years later my family would recount that even as a small child I was bustling around her wake making sure everyone knew that it was going to be okay. My pre-memory self somehow knew that dying was not the end, that grief was merely another thing to pass through our bodies, and that death was something we would meet every day in small ways and therefore could not be feared. However, this is not the dominant narrative on grief, instead we are encouraged to repress at all costs, to make sure that the enormity of our grief is never known or shared. We are led to believe that our pain does not deserve to take up space. I am here to say, with my whole entire heart, you not only deserve to take up space, you have to. Because, as Lama Rod Owens shares in his book Love and Rage, “if you don’t get to the heartbreak, you don’t get to the healing.” 
Earlier this year a friend suggested Melissa Febos’s Girlhood, ( Please read content warnings before reading any of the books mentioned hereafter)  which is a master class in prose and vulnerability. Febos writes (in my mind) of grief, “the true telling of our stories often requires the annihilation of other stories, the ones we build and carry through our lives because it is easier to preserve some mysteries. We don’t need the truth to survive, and sometimes our survival depends on its denial.” I have such mixed feelings about this line. In many ways, yes, if we are traumatized, often the only thing we know is to put it away, the only safe thing to do is to put it under lock and key. However, as we have moved through the Scorpio-Taurus eclipse axis this year, it has demanded us to reckon with the fact that we do need the truth to survive, and that in fact, unearthing our truth is the only way to set ourselves free. So while I agree that sometimes our immediate survival depends on being able to push it down, I don’t believe that any true healing occurs without exhuming the past and laying it out on the examination table to be autopsied, dissected, and eventually put back together again.
Any of us that have invested in the work of unearthing have learned that simply because we put it away, doesn’t mean it disappears. And in many cases, our hurt will find a way to be felt. You may never be able to unbreak your heart, but there are avenues to healing available. I believe in the healing power of naming. We cannot heal what we cannot name. Mimi Zhu shares in her book Be Not Afraid of Love, “I am not shaming myself for my coping mechanisms. I am naming them because it has taken me so long to become aware of them. This naming is honoring the unknowing that I had at the time, and how I was so unaware of the ways that I was surviving.” We live in a society that is so fearful of emotion, especially of seemingly catastrophic emotions like grief whose entire existence demands to be felt. So we are taught from so young to hide those parts of ourselves, to learn to tuck them away into the tiny crevices of our minds, unknowingly letting them decay in the corners until someone eventually hands us the tools to excavate that rot. I hope this essay hands you some tools. Zhu goes on to say of grief:
The Western world is obsessed with binaries, splitting joy and sadness into enemies. Life and death are classified as direct opposites too. Human beings have long understood the ecstasies of happiness and the heaviness of sorrow. Joy never ceases to be beautiful, while grief never seems to get easier. Binaries create fragmentations and opposing forces, and do not regard joy, sadness, life, and death as intrinsic to the wholeness and balance of being. While sorrow and death are difficult and scary experiences, instead of being taught how to feel and navigate them, we fear them so much that we strive to completely avoid them. It is not surprising that in the Anthropocene, human beings are obsessed with inventing technologies to achieve immunity to both sadness and death.
I love this paragraph because I think it highlights perfectly what we must do in order to face our grief, we have to learn to love her. In all the times I have faced my grief, it has been through the practice of nostalgia. A kind, yet painful reminder of what it is that I have lost. I remember my grandmother through her favorite songs, and favorite soup. I remember my best friend Nick through our favorite hockey team, and a tattoo I wear with love. I remember my smaller self through pop culture and the tiny altars I created before I had the language to name them as such. We must attend to our sorrow with equal parts joy and remembrance. This is a much larger task than it appears on the surface, because in order to touch that joy and remembrance, we have to face the enormity of that which we have lost. Every time I eat my grandmother’s favorite soup, it’s with the knowing that I will never do so with her again, that she will never do so again. The pain that enters my ribcage every time I go to pick up my phone to text Nick about The Sharks game and remember that he’s no longer here to tell. However, I also believe that the memory of those we’ve lost lives on in these acts of love. That somewhere, not so far away on the other side of the veil, those we love sit with us at the table, they are next to us on the couch. If we are brave enough to hold the dialectic of grief and love in the same breath, we are able to contact something truly beautiful. 
I have said in many ways, a hundred times over, that I have lived and died a thousand times (and I’m only 32). To me, there are small deaths every day. Every time we don’t stand up for ourselves, or hide the words we yearn to say for fear of being ostracized, even the fresh cut flowers on my altar are tiny deaths. But I’ve also lived a thousand lives through stories, rainstorms, and the love of people who chose to see me in my entirety. What this all is really to say is that death is simply rebirth, a chance to start over. Febos puts it beautifully when she says, “they say that to love someone else, you have to love yourself first. It is not true. Being loved, the relentless care of my family, my lovers, my friends, has sewn me back together...I am shocked and so relieved to find that I am still soft inside.” What speaks to me here is that no matter how badly our many deaths hurt, the myriad ways in which we convince ourselves we simply won’t make it to the next breath, there is always something there to cauterize the wounds and to help relocate ourselves, an epitaph from beyond to remind us that there are no true endings. So I hope, dear one, that you are able to find this. Be it through therapy, the welcome call of the ocean, or the hug of a loved one. You too deserve to find that soft inside, relentless in its truth, a north star back home.

In love, grief, and solidarity,
Shawnee

Written by Dr. Eli Reding. 
Since becoming a therapist in 2012, I have consistently struggled to replicate in my personal life what I preach in my professional life. While we go through lots of training on how to help others and how to recognize our own limitations as therapists, the lessons of self-care preached in graduate school are often trite, vague, and incomplete. I think the main reason for this is not a lack of importance but rather an acknowledgement that the care needs of each and every one of us is so individualized and unique to personal context that global statements about what is “good self-care” can rarely be made.
This piece is not meant to focus on the fact that your therapists are falling apart. Instead, I want to elucidate the fact that we are complex people who both struggle through our own personal work and help you through your own emotional work which we may see in a different, more nuanced fashion. I have struggled with mental health from a young age, with my first depressive symptoms emerging in middle school and my ADHD (diagnosed much later in college) already raging strong. I think I was a difficult child and even if I wasn’t, I very much envisioned myself as such. That perspective of the gifted and talented individual who could produce phenomenal work at times and who internally was plagued with doubt, low self-esteem, and frustration at a lack of consistency, has never really left my thoughts. Instead, it has emerged as a variable self-perception, of a crumbling person in one breath and a towering example of personal and professional achievement in the next. The contrast batters my sense of self like waves, robbing me of a safe self-image to proceed from.
In the absence of a stable self-image, my teenage and early twenties self never imagined personal, financial, and emotional stability. I viewed myself as chronically ill, functional on the outside but rotting from within with the knowledge that eventually the façade would give way. Recently, I have begun to consider a different perspective, that the crumbling and the façade are equally valid. When I am functional and in the moment, being present and celebrating myself is as important as engaging in the automatic negativity that plagues me when my symptoms become too much and overwhelm me for weeks or months on end. It is important to note that these changes and realizations have not emerged within epiphanies but rather behavioral changes that I struggle chronically to maintain. Sleep difficulties, motivation to start tasks, and keeping up with administrative tasks are concerns that continue to crop up and are only managed with great difficulty. However, for the first time in my life, they are being consistently managed. My depressive episodes last days or a few weeks rather than months at a time. My anxieties can be challenged internally, and I am able to force myself to start the grind of putting the pieces of myself back together.
“Eli give us advice! Tell us how to accomplish this!” you may be thinking. The truth is, I don’t have any, not in the way you’re asking for. I do not recommend some magic formula of eating this much, sleeping this many hours, working in this way, or exercising so many times per week. Because honestly, the numbers don’t matter as much as the willingness to engage in your livelihood and moving towards change. Instead, I offer a different perspective. Maybe the rotting is necessary to create the dark fertile soil that provides opportunities for growth. Maybe the struggle is constantly a struggle and never becomes easier. But maybe if you sit in these realities, parts of you change and become more resilient. And this change comes not in the form of a therapeutic flash of insight but a slow insidious growth, as silent and as powerful as the rot was before.

Being human is difficult. All of us struggle with things, both internal and external. But the struggling is part of what being human is. The struggle along with moments of joy, sorrow, rage, fear, contentment, and surprise. Do not rob yourself of the experience in the movement towards perfection. Best is an empty, unachievable concept that only serves to tear apart any sense of self-satisfaction that you have built for yourself. Rather than best, maybe it is ok to step away from perfect and move towards an incremental, almost imperceptible amount of growth and stability, particularly if all you’ve ever known is a sense of falling apart.
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My final words will be brief. It is okay if you think you do not have progress, change, or growth within you. You can stay in the muck and be where you are as long as you need. Revel in your grief or trauma or illness if it subsumes your entire perspective. But if you look for it, I imagine you just might see a little bit of positive change, a bit of resilience or strength, existing within the miasma of daily life. Because in being alive, there is always some part of us that is growing and not rotting as that is the very nature of life itself.

This piece was written last year by Dr. Eli Reding. In honor of Indigenous People's day, we decided to release it on the Grounded Therapy Blog. 

November is Indigenous Heritage Month and as a mixed Indigenous person, for a long time, I appreciated this celebration but largely felt it was not for me. When I was younger, I grew up in a White, wealthy suburb. Diversity was not celebrated, and most times was not even accessible. I have memories of going to pow-wow or eating Auntie Brenda’s fry bread (who was technically not even blood related to me but who loves me as her own blood, classic). These moments, however, felt like a vacation from the Whiteness that enveloped me elsewhere in my life. These experiences were vibrant and powerful, but I also felt like an outsider, a visitor to a place that I did not necessarily belong. As I grew, I continued to engage in primarily White institutions, valuing education and discipline as indicators of success. My Indigenous identity became a quirk, something I would speak on if directly asked but for the most part was ignored, both by me and others around me.
My NDN self is so different than my mother’s or my grandfather’s. For one, I am not tribally enrolled due to lacking blood quantum. For those of you who do not know, “blood quantum” is a measure of how much “Indian blood” you have. It is often used as an entrance criterion to membership. The Stockbridge-Munsee Community Band of Mohican Indians requires ¼ blood quantum and mine falls just around a sixth. This felt, and continues to feel, that I am often not Indigenous enough to claim this heritage. Recently I have heard the term Pretendian being thrown around on Indigenous Twitter and I fear it resonates too clearly for me. Is my exploration of my Native identity merely a desire to escape my Whiteness, which seems to choke out any form of identity other than itself?
NDN can be shaped by so many factors: on rez/off rez, language, spirituality/religion, community participation, and family identity. Each of these has impacted me in unique ways and made me feel more or less Indigenous depending on context. An important term in cultural identity work is “identity salience” which specifically refers to the amount an individual cultural identity stands out and attracts attention, both internally and externally. As an individual with multiple minority identities (neurodivergent, Queer, Indigenous), the salience of each of these rises and falls depending on the environments I find myself in. However, my NDN self is the only identity that isn’t global as I am also majority White. This is why I have actively chosen to identify myself on social media and professionally as White/Indigenous, not to dismiss my Native identity but rather to recognize my privilege of appearing White and easily engaging in White spaces. For the most part, I get to choose whether or not I present as Native due to skin privilege.
What then does oppression look like to the mixed-race person, the one who gets to be assumed white due to the lightness of their skin? Due to exploration of my Queer identity, I have a word for this “White passing.” Most people if they do not know me, and even sometimes those who do, do not see me as Native. This means that during the summer, as my skin darkens, I get questions of “where are you from.” I get calls of “hey, papi” for people who confuse me for Latinx. I get to hear co-workers say things like “Let’s have a pow wow,” and “What’s your spirit animal?” Often, it is easier to sit in my silence than correct a stranger, or harder yet, a friend. But each time I do this I tacitly endorse that my Nativeness is not sacred, that those beliefs systems do not have value to me. Even contemplating how often I do this for something as simple as personal ease makes me nauseous.
My Indigenous identity is also something that varies in salience in non-White spaces. In my family, I have cousins who are significantly more Native, both by blood and cultural upbringing. To be Indigenous next to family feels appropriative, even next to my own mother. Here is a strong woman who is visibly Native, who helped advocate for her culture and who actively displays her ethnic power in her field. She lives her NDN heritage through consuming Native art, through her enrollment in the tribe, through her connection to her father, through giving back to Indigenous causes, and in so many other ways I cannot be aware of.
My identity seems nascent to hers. I spent some time working on reservation in graduate school, completing a practicum on the White Earth Nation Reservation. In working there, I was immediately recognized as Native. The Native women at the front desk kept me up to date on reservation gossip, the other mental health professionals on staff shared stories about their identities and asked me for mine. I was seen as part of the fabric of Nativeness in an inalienable way. I was invited to participate in ceremonies and Native events. I resided once a week in the tribal casino and occasionally was in events in the community. For the first time, I did not feel like a stranger to my own identity. I was validated for who I was as a Native and for where I was in that process. I did not feel like a Pretendian anymore.
I first started to actively think about my Native identity in graduate school. I had the great fortune of studying under an advisor who was mixed race herself, Latinx and White. For the first time, I had someone who actively told me it was alright to explore a part of myself, not matter how small. We had conversations about the systemic attempt to eliminate Indigenous people and that in some ways, disavowing my NDN part was internalized colonialism. In those years, I learned terms that described ways I had felt from childhood. I began to see myself as intersectional for the first time: Queer, cisgender, Native, White, Lutheran, Agnostic, wealthy, suburban, male, mentally ill, chronically ill, and neurodivergent (I could go on but I stray). I felt discomfort in not knowing who I was and feeling like I would never be enough of any of these things and at the same time struggled with being too much of them at times. To this day, I cannot escape this constant feeling of identity anxiety, of moving from one to another and having trouble recognizing what is fully me. Nowhere is this more true than my racial identity where I have a great deal of pride but also constantly suffer from an internalized imposter syndrome.
As a professional psychologist, I possess a significant amount of privilege. In many ways, I did not feel qualified to write this account due to that intense position of privilege, that my voice is not as valuable as others who might speak on this topic. But this is my story and is who I am, for better or for worse. I’m just as human as the rest of the world. I will continue to explore all of my identities but for this month, my Nativeness is at the forefront of my mind. It can be uncomfortable to explore yourself when you often feel like not enough but for those of you still reading, I want to extend an invitation to you to try. Find the thing inside yourself that you are hiding from, that makes you ask the questions that you do not have answers to, that you may never have answers to. For me, this month, this year, this life; I am both White and Indigenous. Its frequently easier to live in black and white but for this month I’d invite you to explore your other colors, your reds and yellows too.
Niá:wen,
Eli Reding

1.​www.usatoday.com/story/travel/airline-news/2022/07/29/airplane-seat-size-faa-public-comments/10154050002/
​2. PL-115-254-Sec-337-Aircraft-Cabin-Evacuation-Standards.pdf, 2
3.https://www.childrensdefense.org/state-of-americas-children/soac-2021-overview/#:~:text=CHILD%20POPULATION%3A%20America's%20children%20are,majority%20of%20children%20under%205.
4. https://acl.gov/sites/default/files/Aging%20and%20Disability%20in%20America/2020ProfileOlderAmericans.Final_.pdf
5.www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/disabilityandhealth/infographic-disability-impacts-all.html#:~:text=61%20million%20adults%20in%20the,is%20highest%20in%20the%20South.
​6. www.nytimes.com/2022/08/08/travel/air-travel-wheelchair.html 
​7.nyulangone.org/conditions/deep-vein-thrombosis/prevention#:~:text=Dehydration%20contributes%20to%20the%20development,periods%2C%20such%20as%20while%20traveling.
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Written by Dr. Chelsea Sanders
Fear shows up in a lot of sneaky ways for some really important reasons, but if we aren’t aware of it, it can dictate our lives in ways that don’t actually serve us. How does fear show up for you? Think back over the last few weeks, has fear been driving your decisions? Have you been held back from doing something that seems important, challenging, or fun? Perhaps you were recently invited to try something new, and you immediately declined due to self-doubt, uncertainty, or a vague sense of unease. Is there something calling to you lately – pulling your body into action, but you find yourself frozen, unable to make a move? To quote the ever-dreamy Brandon Boyd et al. (i.e. major heartthrob of my generation), is it time to ask yourself how much you “let the fear take the wheel and steer”?
I invite you to join me in a brief exercise that can sometimes show us the power of the present moment, especially when uncomfortable emotions (like fear) are feeling like “too much” or seem to be getting in the way. If you feel up for it, I’ll instruct you through a series of suggestions and prompts for where to direct your attention – like a read-along, guided meditation or visualization exercise. I recognize that I may be asking a lot of you, to take this time to check in with yourself. If you could be brave, or patient, or curious, please take a few minutes to try it out. 
First, take a moment to get comfortable in your seat, adjust your posture, allowing for realignment if that is necessary, and find a position to rest comfortably. 
Now take a couple moments to close your eyes and turn your attention towards your breath. When you feel content with that, you may read on.
Now that you have connected with your breath, check in with your body. What do you see? What do you feel? What do you notice going on under the skin? Is there a sense of tension in your chest? A sense of suspended apprehension in your core? Perhaps a lump in your throat, a sense of dread or uncertainty… grief, sadness, helplessness, desperation. Or maybe you feel light; perhaps today is one of buoyancy in your heart, and it feels like light is permeating your being, filtering through your skin like sun rays piercing through the clouds. Your experience is yours… unique to you, your body, this moment in time. Whatever is there, notice that. 
Breathe. Stay here as long as you like. When you feel ready, read on.
Once you’ve noticed what’s happening in your body, you could try to observe it, label it, and describe it. Where is it located in your body? What is its color and size? Does it have a temperature? What about its texture? Shape? Does it move or change? Go on. See if you can give yourself permission to explore what is there and describe its physical characteristics to yourself. See if you are able to connect with the invisible parts of yourself in this somewhat tangible way. 
Breathe. Try to direct your breath to the part of your body that currently holds your awareness, where most of the observing and describing has taken place. Try to make space with your breath. When you feel ready, read on.
As you watch your experience, notice what it feels like to see it from this perspective. How can you hold space for your experience this way? If you feel an urge to turn away from it, notice that and describe that too. See how long you can sit with yourself this way.
When you feel ready to move on, turn your attention back to your breath. Notice yourself sitting, notice the space you occupy. Notice any sounds around you, and allow yourself to move on with your day.
What did we just do there? What was the point of that? Do you notice anything different? Was it easy? Was it uncomfortable? Has anything changed about the way that you are holding yourself right now?
Connecting with the present moment can be a powerful tool for facing our fears. Fear is an automatic response in our body to the presence of threat – it’s like a built-in alarm system, warning us of possible danger. It’s there to keep us safe, helping us learn what to avoid in order to survive. Sometimes, for a variety of reasons, the sensors for our alarm systems become dysregulated and need recalibrating. Sometimes, the alarm continues to sound long after the threat is gone, or in response to a threat that isn’t actually there. An overactive alarm is responsible for things like PTSD, anxiety and panic disorders, OCD, and sometimes contributes to other challenges like substance use disorders and psychosis. 
Perhaps you know exactly what I mean when I talk about an overactive alarm – sometimes it is really obvious – but fear can also be more subtle in the ways it runs in the background and informs our actions. It could be what is keeping you in a job that you can’t stand, making you feel “stuck” or “in a rut.” It could be keeping you from dating and making new friends, under the guise of being “too busy.” It might even be keeping you from doing day-to-day activities, a low level procrastination that has convinced you that you’re “lazy.” 
Without present moment awareness, we may go on existing in this subconscious state, automatically reacting to our alarms, seemingly without choice in the matter. Present moment awareness takes work. It is a skill that we can develop and practice, so we can learn to recognize our patterns, sit with the discomfort of the alarm reverberating through our bodies, and choose a response that works for our goals and values.
Folks end up in dissatisfying situations for lots of different reasons. I hope that this post has been helpful for you today. If not, I hope you find something helpful soon. If you’d like to talk through your specific situation and see if we can identify what is steering the wheel of your life, please feel free to contact any of the Grounded therapists for an appointment.

Written by Dr. Shawnee Brew​​
Hey Kitty Cats, your resident down with the system Doc here,

It’s about that time of year that social media will be flooded with all the best ways to lose those few extra pounds just in time for “bikini season.” Posts suggesting that if you can just find the right cut, tan the right places, tone the wrong ones, and get enough hair removal to resemble your prepubescent self, then everyone at the beach will simply forget you even have a body. And if all else fails, “nothing is sexier than confidence!" (Beachbody on Demand 2015)

What these influencers and companies forget to tell you is that the diet industry made $946 billion dollars in 2020; making it one of the few sectors that maintained positive growth during the initial stages of the pandemic (Global Wellness Institute). These numbers continue to grow each year as companies continue to profit off of people feeling like their bodies need to change in some way. We live in a society that has deemed thinness the ultimate social capital; from the minute we’re born, we’re being fed media about maintaining the smallest body possible (NY Daily News). The diet industry preps us for failure by consistently selling “quick fixes” that result in weight coming back causing folks to get caught in a perpetual cycle of yo-yo dieting. However, we have extensive research indicating that diets are not effective and do not work in the long term (Ge et al. 2020). Name another industry out there with a 95% failure rate that is still being lauded as successful...no, it’s fine, I’ll wait.

There are many physical health concerns noted with chronic dieting including: unhealthy changes in body composition, hormonal changes, reduced bone density, menstrual disturbances, and lower resting energy expenditure (Lindner Center of Hope). Beyond physical health concerns there are a number of ways dieting can impact our mental health over time as well. Chronic dieters report feelings of guilt, self-blame, anxiety, depression, difficulty concentrating, and fatigue. Dieting in adolescents is a known precursor to disordered eating; statistics indicate that moderate dieters are five times more likely to develop an eating disorder than non-dieters (Berkeley kNOw Dieting).  

We’ve clearly made a case for the fact that diet culture has trapped us into believing that thinness will be our savior while prepping most of us for a disordered relationship with food and our bodies. So, what the heck do we do about it? The National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) suggests starting by imagining all the time and energy you could save by decreasing the amount of time spent thinking about dieting. This may seem trivial but really take a minute to examine how much time is spent thinking about your body, the food you consume, the amount of time spent exercising, etc. Is this really a values consistent way for you to spend your precious minutes? If so, congrats! You’ve probably done some really tough unlearning to arrive at this place. If no, awesome, let’s hang out a bit more and continue this chat.

Everything we’ve spoken about until now is a result of diet culture. Christy Harrison, author of The Anti-Diet, defines diet culture as, “a system of beliefs that equates thinness to health and moral virtue, promotes weight loss as a means of attaining higher status, and demonizes certain ways of eating while elevating others. It's sexist, racist, and classist, yet this way of thinking about food and bodies is so embedded in the fabric of our society that it can be hard to recognize. It masquerades as health, wellness, and fitness, and for some, it is all-consuming.” Her book was released in 2019 and offers its readers “a radical alternative to diet culture, and helps readers reclaim their bodies, minds, and lives so they can focus on the things that truly matter” (Anti-Diet, Christy Harrison). For many, this journey begins with the unlearning. Unlearning of the ways we’ve been taught to exist in the world. Unlearning of who and what we’re supposed to be based on Eurocentric standards of beauty. 

My own journey began here in 2020 when a (now ex) friend of mine shared that my social media was a wasteland of triggers and inappropriate content. My initial reaction was to scoff, get angry, and completely dismiss that which she had shared with me. I sent it to my best friend saying something along the lines of “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” She gently replied, “well, I actually don’t disagree with most of this...” and I remember it being a punch to my gut. Here I was, a very thin, very white, very privileged being lording my weight loss all over my social media like I was some kind of success story. Meanwhile, the people closest to me were being harmed by these actions. This was the impetus for me to start my own unlearning. I turned to fat activists and their work to start unlearning all the things I had deemed health, success, etc. 

Sabrina Strings’ Fearing the Black Body was my entry point. Her 2019 book details the 200+ year history of demonizing Black women’s bodies, especially fat Black female bodies. From here I turned to Sonya Renee Taylor and her radical self-love narrative The Body Is Not an Apology where she “invites us to reconnect with the radical origins of our minds and bodies and celebrate our collective, enduring strength.” This work was slow and arduous (It still is, this is work I continue to do daily even now). I found myself angry and resistant more often than not. How could these things be true in a world where weight is the center of almost all discussions around health; I felt like I had to be missing something. 

This was a pivotal time for me in many ways, it was also height of the protests around the murder of George Floyd and a time where race based oppression was on the minds of many. As a person who has self-identified as a feminist all my life, I was coming up against all the ways that I have perpetuated harm. I was learning that my need to center myself and my feelings is a symptom of the white supremacy that lives in my bones. It feels so clear to me now, being on the other side of the this learning (not at the end of, simply viewing from a different angle for the first time), that all the things I believed were put in place by a system to keep minoritized folks down. The more unlearning I do, the more I realize how sick our systems are and the amount of work we have ahead of us to realize a different world.

If you’ve ever had the pleasure (lol) of being in the therapy room with me, you know my ask at the end of every session is, “what are our action steps?” This is a way of consolidating the work that we’ve done in a session into tangible tasks that we can do throughout our days/weeks that will be in service of this growth. So I’d like to offer some action steps for getting at to the root of our unlearning around diet culture and disordered eating.

1. Diversify your social media feed: I offer this to almost all of my clients regardless of the type of work we’re doing. So much of my unlearning has taken place by seeing the way that all types of people live their lives. I got rid of every influencer that didn’t align with my values and stopped following anything and everything pertaining to diet culture. I started following fat folks, queer folks, disabled folks, neurodivergent folks, folks of color, and all walks of life. I had to put shame aside and be okay with the fact that I was coming to this work “late.”
2. Read (and pay for) the work by activists: If we are truly to do the work of unlearning we have to center and uplift the most marginalized in our communities. Once you’ve done the work of diversifying your feed, seek out the things these folks have written. Pay for the labor they offer by giving you free access to their social media musings. Listen to the voices who have lived these experiences. 
3. Seek additional support: As mentioned above, chronic dieting impacts our physical and mental health in a litany of ways. If you believe you have a problem with your relationship to food and body (and if you have the resources to do so), try finding a therapist or nutritionist to guide you through this work. I suggest looking for providers who align with anti-diet and health at every size doctrines. If you do not have the resources to access psychotherapy, consider checking out some of the books mentioned from your local library as a starting point. 
4. Share your story: The more folks who are willing to come to this work messy and imperfect, the larger impact it will have over time. I have lost many “friends” and even more followers over the years as I have become more and more outspoken about my beliefs. However, I have also had countless folks share that my willingness to talk about these things publicly has impacted them in positive ways. 
5. Be gentle with yourself: This is hard work, unlearning in a world that tells you not to. Focus on self-compassion and moving through this work in a way that will be sustainable for you. 

We are all imperfect in a society that deems perfection the ultimate goal. So as we move through this work, this great unlearning, we will come up against many road blocks. But one way to start, is by going immediately from this blog post to a store, buying the fucking bikini, and wearing it this summer; no matter what your body looks like. Because you deserve liberation, we all do.

Until next time,

Doc
References
https://www.beachbodyondemand.com/blog/8-ways-prepare-bikini-season
https://globalwellnessinstitute.org/press-room/statistics-and-facts/
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/32238384/
https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/fashion/company-pulls-hate-thighs-onesie-backlash-article-1.2154462
https://uhs.berkeley.edu/sites/default/files/bewell_nodieting.pdf
https://lindnercenterofhope.org/blog/why-dieting-can-be-harmful/
https://christyharrison.com/book-anti-diet-intuitive-eating-christy-harrison
https://nyupress.org/9781479886753/fearing-the-black-body/
https://thebodyisnotanapology.com

​Written by Dr. Stacy Bonds
It has been an especially long two years. It has been said, “there are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.”  This definitely rings true as the past few years have been full of life-changing events. Just a few weeks ago, the Russia-Ukraine war started, reverberating throughout the world. There have been many ongoing world and life events as we navigate a global pandemic. Humans have shown their adaptability and resilience in the face of massive, ongoing stressors. Many have adjusted and started to see these conditions as normal, losing sight of the persistent and sustained high levels of stress they are under. 

During these stressful times, we have seen large increases in mental health symptoms. Research has found 1 in 4 youth are experiencing depressive symptoms and 1 in 5 youth are experiencing anxiety symptoms (double the pre-pandemic rates; Racine et al., 2021). Research has also supported that adults are experiencing much higher rates of mental health problems following the pandemic (Nochaiwong et al., 2021).  With stress levels quite high, we are seeing an increase in mental health symptoms across the board globally. Even normal stress is always accompanied by coping (whatever thoughts and behaviors we use to deal with stress). When we are under high levels of stress, there can be fewer coping resources available. For example, if your children keep having COVID exposures at school or daycare, so you are constantly playing catch up and have no time for adaptive coping (e.g., time with friends, take a break, work out). Additionally, there are many major stressors that are outside of individual control. It might also feel like the world is ending, that there is no hope, and that there’s nothing you can do. Under those circumstances, folks often feel depressed, hopeless, and don’t want to do anything (e.g., get out of bed, shower, work). It can seem near impossible to keep managing when your coping tank is empty. 

It is easy to lose sight of this context, that we are still in a pandemic as history unfolds around us. Without considering the larger environment, folks may be experiencing mental health symptoms for the first time or notice a higher level of mental health symptoms, and then blame themselves. I’m being too sensitive. Why am I struggling so much? Everyone else seems to be managing okay. Focusing on ourselves can give us a sense of control over the situation. If I can just figure out how to stop being so sensitive and manage like everyone else, then this situation is okay and sustainable. Heaping this responsibility on you, when much of it may be out of your control, can make you feel worse. Furthermore, this situation is not sustainable. There is not some magic coping mechanism that makes it possible to keep going and feel happy when everything seems to be coming apart at the seams. It makes sense to be feeling overwhelmed and filled with dread when it matches the circumstances. 

Folks can be very hard on themselves and self-critical. It’s so silly that I feel sad and don’t want to do anything. I should be different. Everyone else is able to handle this, I should be able to as well. When we blame ourselves, it increases our own suffering. One way or another, we all end up in difficult, painful situations. Situations where pain is going to be there, no matter what. Blaming ourselves adds another layer of suffering to what is happening. For example, in the latest COVID wave, I had several clients that contracted COVID. They had done everything they could to not get COVID (e.g., being vaccinated) and then got COVID anyway. There is pain inherent in getting COVID including the symptoms of the illness and isolation from loved ones. Often self-criticism followed their diagnosis. I should have made different choices. If I had just not gone to the grocery store that day, then I wouldn’t have gotten COVID. Being critical and blaming self does not change the reality of the situation. It does turn up the suffering. 
​
Self-compassion is an alternative to self-criticism. Compassion is when we recognize suffering and try to alleviate that suffering. We can direct compassion towards ourselves and cultivate self-compassion as a practice, where we treat ourselves with kindness and care. Kristen Neff and Christopher Germer have created a program called Mindful Self-Compassion (Neff & Germer, 2018). They characterize self-compassion as having three core elements: self-kindness, common humanity, and mindfulness.

• Self-Kindness vs. Self-Judgment
  • Treating self with care and understanding rather than harsh judgment
  • Actively soothing and comforting oneself
• Common humanity vs. Isolation
  • Seeing own experience as part of larger human experience not isolating or abnormal
  • Recognizing that life is imperfect
• Mindfulness vs. Over-identification
  • Allows us to "be" with painful feelings as they are
  • Avoids extremes of suppressing or running away with painful feelings

In my above example, self-compassion might look like:

• Noticing this is a very difficult, painful circumstance.
• Reflecting on how other folks are sharing this experience. You are not the only person who did everything they could to stay safe and stop the spread of COVID and then contracted COVID. You are not alone.
• Try to extend kindness to yourself. Can I be gentle with myself about these circumstances. How can I comfort or take care of myself while I recover? Could I use some things I enjoy for distraction, rather than beating myself up?

We need the tools of self-compassion for our current circumstances. As we continue to weather events that will end up in the history books, we must take care of ourselves and find ways to include ourselves in the circle of compassion. Here are some ways to explore making contact with self-compassion:

• Consider your context. What is going on in your life? What is going on in your community? What’s going on globally? How might these be impacting you? 
• Be compassionate in your care for yourself. What are the ways your context could be shifted? For example:
  • Is it time to ask your parents to watch the kids a night a week so you can have alone time? 
  • Is it time to set a limit to how much news or social media you engage with? 
  • Is it time to scale back a little at work? 
  • Is it time to start taking a five minute daily walk?
• Reflect on how you are treating yourself about what you are up against. 
  • Are you being a bully? Beating yourself up, blaming self, taking responsibility for stuff that may be beyond your control?
  • Are you treating yourself like you would a good friend? Showing yourself kindness and gentleness?
  • If you find you are being a bully to yourself, you can try this exercise. If my good friend was to come to me and describe what’s going on, what would I tell them?
    • For example, if I am having a hard time at work. My attention is elsewhere. It’s taking me longer to get projects done, the days seem to be dragging, and I have no motivation. What would I tell my good friend if they were in that situation? Would I tell them you are lazy and good for nothing? You can’t do anything right. Everyone else is doing so much better than you. Or would I tell them you’re in a tough spot right now. It’s really difficult to get yourself moving, and you’re doing what you can. Just because it is rough right now, doesn’t mean it will stay that way forever. 

If you want to learn more about self-compassion, Kristen Neff and Christopher Germer’s Mindful Self-Compassion Workbook is a great self-directed way to learn more about self-compassion. It is broken down into approachable pieces to practice and use in daily life. The Center for Mindful Self Compassion (CMSC) is an organization based in San Diego that works to spread the practice of self-compassion. CMSC offers free audio guided meditations, daily online self-compassion meditations, as well as online and in-person courses in self-compassion. Therapy can be another way to cultivate self-compassion with support. Available from any of the providers at Grounded Therapy. 

 “Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.” - Dalai Lama

References

Racine, N., McArthur, B. A., Cooke, J. E., Eirich, R., Zhu, J., & Madigan, S. (2021). Global prevalence of depressive and anxiety symptoms in children and adolescents during COVID-19: A meta-analysis. JAMA Pediatrics, 175(11), 1142-1150. 

Nochaiwong, S., Ruengorn, C., Thavorn, K., Hutton, B., Awiphan, R., Phosuya, C., Ruanta, Y., Wongpakaran, N., & Wongpakaran, T. (2021). Global prevalence of mental health issues among the general population during the coronavirus disease-2019 pandemic: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Scientific Reports, 11, 10173.

Kristin Neff & Christopher Germer (2018). The Mindful Self-Compassion Workbook. Guilford Press.

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Written by Dr. Eli Reding