healing journey

What Neurofeedback Is Teaching Me About a Brain That’s Been Surviving for Years

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There comes a point in a long healing journey when you realize that your body isn’t the only thing that’s been carrying the weight.

After years of surgeries, chronic pain, medications, setbacks, and living in a constant state of uncertainty, I began to understand that my nervous system had been working overtime for a very long time. My brain had learned to stay on high alert, always preparing for the next challenge, the next appointment, the next procedure, or the next disappointment.

Healing isn’t just about muscles, joints, or bones. Sometimes it’s about helping the brain remember what safety feels like.

That’s what led me to begin neurofeedback therapy.

If you’re unfamiliar with neurofeedback, think of it as a gentle form of brain training. It provides the brain with information about its own activity, encouraging healthier patterns and greater self-regulation. Rather than forcing change, it supports the brain’s incredible ability to adapt and reorganize itself over time.

I’m still early in this journey, and I’m not writing this as an expert. I’m simply sharing my experience as someone who has spent years trying to heal physically while only recently realizing how much my brain and nervous system have been through as well.

For so long, I believed I needed to push harder, think more positively, or simply be stronger. But chronic pain, repeated surgeries, trauma, stress, and long-term illness all leave an imprint. The brain learns patterns of vigilance and protection that don’t simply disappear when the physical crisis ends.

I’ve spent years teaching mindfulness and adaptive yoga, helping others reconnect with their bodies through breath and awareness. Yet this experience is reminding me that healing is wonderfully layered. Mindfulness teaches us to observe. Neurofeedback offers another way to support the brain’s natural capacity to find balance.

It’s fascinating to notice the subtle shifts. A little calmer. A little less mental noise. Moments where my nervous system seems to exhale before my body does.

Not every day feels different. Healing rarely happens in dramatic leaps. More often, it arrives quietly, almost unnoticed, until one day you realize you’re responding differently than you used to.

I’ve learned that survival mode can become so familiar that we mistake it for our personality. Hypervigilance feels normal. Exhaustion feels expected. Constant planning and worrying become habits we barely recognize.

What if our brains deserve healing just as much as our bodies do?

That question has stayed with me.

As someone who has lived through years of medical uncertainty, I know there isn’t one treatment that fixes everything. I don’t expect neurofeedback to erase my past or magically solve every challenge. But I do believe our brains have an extraordinary capacity for change, and that possibility fills me with hope.

Healing isn’t only about getting back to who we were before.

Sometimes it’s about becoming someone new—someone softer, calmer, more present, and more connected to ourselves than we’ve been in years.

As I continue this journey, I’ll share what I’m learning with honesty and curiosity. My hope is that if you’ve been living in survival mode too, you’ll know that healing doesn’t always begin with doing more.

Sometimes it begins by giving the brain permission to rest, regulate, and remember that it is finally safe enough to heal.

May we all find gentle ways to support not only our bodies, but also the remarkable minds that have carried us through so much.


Enjoying this content? My book 52 Weeks of Wisdom & Wellness goes deeper — find it here.

Why Self-Care Is Essential, Not Optional

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Learning to Care for Yourself with Compassion

There was a time when I believed self-care had to be earned.

I thought rest came after the work was finished. I thought slowing down meant I was falling behind. Like many people, I learned to keep pushing through exhaustion, stress, pain, and overwhelm because that is what responsible adults are “supposed” to do.

But life has a way of teaching us differently.

Over the past several years — through surgeries, chronic pain, recovery, emotional exhaustion, and rebuilding my life in new ways — I have slowly begun to understand that self-care is not selfish, lazy, or indulgent. It is necessary. More importantly, self-nurturing is how we sustain ourselves through difficult seasons.

And unlike the polished version of self-care often shown online, true self-nurturing is usually quiet and simple.

Sometimes it looks like canceling plans because your body needs rest. Sometimes it means sitting in the garden for ten minutes with your coffee before the day begins. Sometimes it is gentle yoga instead of intense exercise. Sometimes it is asking for help. Sometimes it is saying no without explaining yourself.

Self-care is not always glamorous. Often, it is deeply practical.

Self-Nurturing Helps Calm the Nervous System

Many of us live in a constant state of overstimulation. We rush from task to task, absorb endless information, and carry stress in our bodies without even realizing it. Over time, this takes a toll physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Gentle self-care practices help signal safety to the nervous system.

This does not have to be complicated. Small things matter:

  • slow breathing
  • stretching
  • spending time in nature
  • listening to calming music
  • petting an animal
  • sitting quietly without multitasking
  • allowing yourself moments of stillness

I have found that gardening has become one of the most grounding forms of self-care in my own life. There is something healing about placing your hands in the soil, noticing new growth, and remembering that nature does not rush its own process.

Plants do not bloom overnight. Healing does not either.

Self-Care Builds Emotional Resilience

When we consistently ignore our own needs, eventually our bodies and minds begin asking for attention in louder ways.

Self-nurturing teaches us to listen earlier.

It helps us recognize exhaustion before burnout. It allows us to acknowledge emotions before they completely overwhelm us. It creates space for compassion instead of constant criticism.

For many people, self-care is not about adding more to their lives. It is about removing pressure. It is about learning that worth is not measured by productivity.

One of the most healing things we can do is stop abandoning ourselves.

Gentle Care Creates Sustainable Healing

As someone who teaches adaptive yoga, I often remind people that there is more than one way to move, heal, and grow.

The same is true for self-care.

Some days self-care may look active and energizing. Other days it may simply mean resting without guilt. Both are valuable. Both matter.

We tend to admire blooming flowers, but we rarely talk about the importance of roots. Yet roots are what sustain growth during difficult seasons.

People are no different.

Without nourishment, rest, support, hydration, connection, and care, we eventually begin to wither emotionally and physically. Self-nurturing is not weakness. It is maintenance for the human spirit.

Self-Care Can Be Simple

You do not need expensive products, perfect routines, or an entire free afternoon to practice self-care.

Sometimes self-nurturing looks like:

  • stepping outside for fresh air
  • drinking enough water
  • making nourishing food
  • practicing gentle yoga
  • watching the sunset
  • spending time with pets
  • taking a deep breath before reacting
  • allowing yourself to slow down
  • choosing softness instead of criticism

These small moments matter more than we often realize.

They remind us that we are worthy of care, too.

Closing Reflection

The older I get, the more I believe healing begins with how we speak to ourselves and how we care for ourselves during difficult seasons.

Self-nurturing is not about perfection. It is about learning to meet yourself with compassion again and again, especially on the hard days.

Like a garden, we grow best when we are tended to gently.

And perhaps one of the most important forms of healing is finally learning that we deserve that care too.


Enjoying this content? My book 52 Weeks of Wisdom & Wellness goes deeper — find it here.

Finding a New Normal with Chronic Hip Pain, Healing & Gardening

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Finding a New Normal: Hip Pain, Healing, Neurofeedback & Gardening for the Soul

There comes a point in every healing journey where we realize we may never return to the version of ourselves we once were.

That realization can feel heartbreaking.

But it can also become the beginning of something gentler, wiser, and more honest.

For me, this season of life has been about learning how to create a new normal while living with chronic hip pain, recovering from multiple surgeries, reducing long-term pain medications, and finding small moments of beauty that still nourish my spirit.

Healing has not looked linear.

Some days I feel hopeful and grounded. Other days I feel frustrated by limitations, exhaustion, or uncertainty. But somewhere in the middle of all of it, I’ve started discovering something important:

Life can still hold meaning, beauty, creativity, and joy — even while healing.

Learning to Live in a Different Body

Chronic pain changes more than the body.

It changes routines. It changes relationships. It changes energy levels. It changes identity.

As someone who spent years teaching yoga, supporting others, and living an active life, adapting to physical limitations has required deep emotional work.

I’ve had to let go of timelines. I’ve had to stop comparing myself to who I used to be. I’ve had to redefine productivity.

And perhaps hardest of all, I’ve had to learn that rest is not failure.

There is grief in all of that.

But there is also growth.

I’m learning to honor my body instead of fighting it every moment of the day.

Reducing Pain Medication & Exploring Neurofeedback

One of the biggest shifts in my healing journey right now is reducing long-term pain medications.

After years of relying on medications to manage pain and simply survive difficult days, I’ve become increasingly aware of how deeply these medications can affect energy, cognition, mood, motivation, and overall well-being.

Tapering is not simple.

It requires patience, support, nervous system regulation, and realistic expectations.

One tool I’m beginning to explore is neurofeedback.

Neurofeedback works by helping the brain recognize and shift patterns of dysregulation. While everyone’s experience is different, many people use neurofeedback to support stress reduction, nervous system balance, focus, sleep, emotional regulation, and chronic pain management.

For me, this process feels less about “fixing” myself and more about helping my nervous system feel safe enough to heal.

Healing from chronic pain is rarely just physical.

The body, brain, emotions, stress response, and environment are all connected.

I’m learning that healing sometimes begins with creating moments of calm, safety, and steadiness in small everyday ways.

Gardening as Therapy for the Soul

One of the greatest gifts during this chapter has been gardening.

Not perfect gardening. Not magazine-worthy gardening.

Just getting my hands in the dirt. Watching things grow. Planting flowers that surprise me. Allowing beauty to exist alongside pain.

My garden has become a reminder that healing is rarely neat or linear.

Some flowers bloom unexpectedly. Some plants struggle and come back stronger. Some seeds never grow at all.

And yet the garden continues.

There is something deeply healing about caring for living things while learning to care for yourself.

Even on difficult pain days, stepping outside for a few moments helps me reconnect to something larger than my circumstances.

The fresh air. The sunlight. The birds. The simple rhythm of watering plants.

These small rituals matter.

They remind me that healing does not always happen in dramatic breakthroughs. Sometimes it happens quietly. One mindful moment at a time.

Creating a Life That Still Feels Meaningful

I used to think healing meant returning to my old life.

Now I’m beginning to understand that healing may actually mean creating an entirely new relationship with myself.

A slower life. A softer life. A more intentional life.

One where I celebrate small victories. One where creativity matters. One where rest is respected. One where beauty still has a place.

I don’t have everything figured out.

But I’m learning that even in uncertainty, there are still moments worth savoring.

A blooming flower. A quiet morning. A peaceful meditation. A good conversation. A dog curled beside you. A body that keeps trying.

That is enough for today.

Gentle Reflection

If you are navigating chronic pain, recovery, grief, or major life changes, may this be your reminder that you do not have to heal perfectly.

You are allowed to adapt. You are allowed to slow down. You are allowed to create a new version of life that supports who you are now.

Healing is not always about becoming who you once were.

Sometimes it’s about discovering who you are becoming.

Call to Action

How are you finding moments of peace or joy during difficult seasons? Share in the comments — I’d love to hear what is helping nourish your spirit lately.


Enjoying this content? My book 52 Weeks of Wisdom & Wellness goes deeper — find it here.

Turning 55: 55 Pieces of Wisdom Gained Through Living, Healing, and Presence

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Turning 55 feels less like reaching a milestone and more like arriving home.

Home to myself.

With each year, life has gently—and sometimes not so gently—polished the rough edges, softened my grip on what doesn’t matter, and strengthened my trust in what does. Wisdom, I’ve learned, isn’t about having answers. It’s about learning how to listen: to the body, the heart, the breath, and the quiet voice within.

Here are 55 pieces of wisdom that 55 years of living, loving, healing, and beginning again have taught me.

55 Pieces of Wisdom

  1. Your body is not the enemy; it is the messenger.
  2. Rest is productive.
  3. Healing is rarely linear—and that’s okay.
  4. Presence changes everything.
  5. You don’t need permission to change.
  6. Boundaries are an act of love, not rejection.
  7. Silence can be deeply nourishing.
  8. Slowing down often gets you where you need to go faster.
  9. Comparison steals joy.
  10. Breath is always available—use it.
  11. Strength looks different in every season.
  12. Asking for help is a skill, not a failure.
  13. The nervous system remembers kindness.
  14. Small rituals can anchor big lives.
  15. Not everything needs fixing.
  16. Trust builds through consistency, not perfection.
  17. Pain can be a teacher without being the definition of your life.
  18. You are allowed to grieve what never was.
  19. Hope can be quiet and still be powerful.
  20. Listening is more transformative than advising.
  21. Your worth does not decline with age—it deepens.
  22. Energy is precious; spend it wisely.
  23. Being gentle is a form of strength.
  24. The body responds to safety before effort.
  25. You can begin again at any moment.
  26. Joy doesn’t need a reason.
  27. Saying no creates space for a truer yes.
  28. Wisdom often comes from lived experience, not books.
  29. The present moment is enough.
  30. Consistency beats intensity.
  31. You don’t have to carry everything alone.
  32. Compassion includes yourself.
  33. The way you speak to yourself matters.
  34. Growth sometimes looks like rest.
  35. Trust your intuition—it’s been practicing longer than you think.
  36. Letting go creates room to breathe.
  37. Aging is not something to resist; it’s something to inhabit.
  38. Stillness is not stagnation.
  39. Love expands when it’s shared freely.
  40. Being embodied is a lifelong practice.
  41. Progress can be subtle and still meaningful.
  42. You don’t owe anyone your depletion.
  43. Presence is more valuable than productivity.
  44. Wisdom often whispers.
  45. Adaptation is a form of resilience.
  46. Your story matters, exactly as it is.
  47. Living slowly is a radical act.
  48. Patience is built through practice.
  49. There is beauty in becoming.
  50. What you nurture grows.
  51. You are more than what you do.
  52. Trust takes time—especially with yourself.
  53. Meaning often lives in the ordinary.
  54. Your breath can always bring you home.
  55. It’s never too late to live with intention.

Closing Reflection

At 55, I’m no longer chasing life—I’m meeting it.

With curiosity. With compassion. With a deeper trust in my body and my becoming.

May we all honor the wisdom that comes not just from years lived, but from moments fully felt.

Choosing Presence in My Body: Healing Through Surgery and Trust

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Why Presence Matters for Healing

There are moments in life when the body insists on being heard. Not with whispers, but with unmistakable clarity. This year begins with one of those moments for me.

I am facing two major surgeries.

One surgery to correct the underlying cause of blood clots in my arm — a condition that has required vigilance, patience, and deep trust in a body that has felt unpredictable at times. The second surgery is an attempt — a seventh attempt — to heal my left hip. Writing those words still feels surreal. Seven surgeries. Years of pain, recovery, setbacks, hope, and courage that had to be rebuilt again and again.

For a long time, my relationship with my body has been complicated. I have taught embodiment, presence, and gentle awareness for decades — and yet living inside a body that hurts can quietly erode trust. When pain becomes chronic, it’s easy to disconnect. To leave the body. To manage it instead of inhabit it.

This year, I am choosing something different.

My word for the year is presence — not as a concept, but as a practice rooted in flesh and breath. Presence in my body means allowing healing the space to unfold, without rushing, forcing, or abandoning myself when things feel slow or uncertain.

Presence means listening.

It means noticing subtle cues instead of overriding them. Honoring rest as an act of wisdom rather than weakness. Letting my nervous system soften instead of staying braced for the next setback.

These surgeries are not just medical events; they are invitations. Invitations to slow down, to receive care, to surrender the illusion of control, and to create the best possible conditions for healing — once and for all.

I am learning that healing does not respond well to pressure. It responds to safety.

Safety in the body. Safety in the breath. Safety in knowing I am not at war with myself.

There is grief here, too — grief for what my body has endured, for time lost, for versions of myself that moved freely without thinking. But alongside the grief is something else: a quiet, grounded hope. Not the flashy kind, but the kind that settles into the bones and says, I am still here.

This year, I am not asking my body to prove anything.

I am offering it presence.

And I trust that presence — steady, compassionate, and embodied — is what gives healing its greatest chance to take shape.

My Word for 2026: Presence

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An Intentional, Soulful Action Plan for Mindful Living

For the past 28 years, I have chosen a single word to guide my year. This word becomes a thread—quiet yet strong—woven into the tapestry of my life. It’s not a resolution or a goal to accomplish, but an intention to return to again and again.

My word for 2026 is Presence.

Presence feels both simple and profound. It asks nothing dramatic of me—only that I show up fully for the life I am already living.

Why I Chose Presence for 2026

We live in a world that constantly pulls us away from the moment we’re in. Even meaningful things—healing, relationships, work, growth—can become rushed or lived on autopilot.

Choosing presence is my commitment to:

  • Be where my body is
  • Listen before reacting
  • Noticing instead of rushing
  • Live my life instead of racing through it

Presence is not perfection. It is awareness. And awareness changes everything.

What Presence Means to Me

Presence means meeting my life as it is, not as I think it should be.

It is:

  • Breathing before responding
  • Listening without planning the next sentence
  • Caring for my body with attention, not impatience
  • Allowing my habits to be conscious rather than compulsive

Presence is how I want to live—in my health, my relationships, my work, and my daily habits.

A Soulful Action Plan for Living with Presence in 2026

Rather than setting rigid goals, I’ve created gentle anchors—ways to return to presence throughout the year.

Presence in My Health

My body has taught me many lessons over the years, and in 2026 I want to honor it with deeper listening.

My practices:

  • Daily check-ins: What does my body need right now?
  • Moving mindfully instead of pushing through
  • Resting without guilt
  • Choosing nourishment that supports healing and energy

Presence in health means responding instead of forcing.

Presence in My Relationships

Presence in relationships means truly being with the people I love.

My practices:

  • Putting the phone down during conversations
  • Listening to understand
  • Allowing silence without rushing to fill it
  • Speaking honestly and kindly

Being present is one of the greatest gifts we can offer another person.

Presence in My Work

My work is meaningful, and I want to meet it with intention rather than urgency.

My practices:

  • Beginning workdays with a grounding breath
  • Focusing on one task at a time
  • Creating instead of constantly consuming
  • Honoring energy levels instead of pushing productivity

Presence in work allows creativity and clarity to lead.

Presence in My Habits

Habits shape our days, and our days shape our lives.

My practices:

  • Morning rituals that begin in stillness
  • Pausing before automatic behaviors
  • Noticing patterns without judgment
  • Choosing small, sustainable actions

Presence helps habits become supportive rather than controlling.

How I Will Return to My Word Throughout the Year

A word of the year only works if we remember it.

Ways I will stay connected to presence:

  • Writing the word in my journal regularly
  • Asking, “What would presence look like right now?”
  • Letting it guide decisions both big and small
  • Allowing it to evolve as the year unfolds

This word is not a rule—it is an invitation.

An Invitation to Choose Your Own Word

Choosing a word for the year is a powerful mindfulness practice. It creates a compass rather than a checklist.

If you feel called, ask yourself:

  • What quality do I want to live with more deeply?
  • What do I need to return to this year?
  • What would support my becoming?

Then listen. The word often arrives quietly.

A Closing Reflection

Presence reminds me that my life is not waiting somewhere in the future.
It is happening now—
in this breath,
this body,
this moment.

And that is where I choose to meet 2026.

A Year of Renewal: Reflecting on Change, Courage, and New Beginnings

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A Year of Renewal: Reflecting on Change, Courage, and New Beginnings

Every year, I choose a single word that becomes a thread woven through my life—my sankalpa, my heartfelt intention. This year, my word is Renewal, and as I close the door on another chapter, I can clearly see how life has been guiding me toward this exact moment of rediscovery.

2024 was unlike any year I’ve ever lived. It brought deep healing, unexpected shifts, and a powerful invitation to grow in directions I didn’t anticipate. After decades of helping others reconnect to themselves, this was the year life asked me to reconnect to me.

And I said yes.

Letting Go: Stepping Away After 18 Years

One of the biggest shifts—one that still feels surreal—was ending my 18 years of traveling to more than 50 assisted living homes. For nearly two decades, I poured my heart into teaching adaptive yoga, holding space for elders, and building community through mindful movement.

It was sacred work.
Beautiful work.
Exhausting work.

And it was time.

Pulling back to only a small handful of homes wasn’t just a schedule change. It was a soul-level shift. It was an act of honoring my body, my healing, and the next evolution of my service. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to loosen the grip on what I had always done and create space for what could be possible next.

A New Path: Becoming a Qualified Behavioral Health Assistant

This year also brought a huge professional pivot—one that aligned not only with my gifts but with my capacity.
I stepped into my new role as a Qualified Behavioral Health Assistant, helping people recover from trauma through skills, connection, and compassionate support.

This work is meaningful in a different way.
It requires less physical demand, but a deeper emotional presence.
It allows me to live my values without compromising my wellness.
And most of all, it lets me continue serving others in a way that honors my own healing journey.

Sometimes renewal doesn’t look like starting over.
Sometimes it looks like redirecting your wisdom where it can thrive.

Welcoming Rosie: Joy Arrives on Four Paws

Another bright spot this year?
I got a new puppy — sweet Rosie.

She arrived exactly when I needed a spark of uncomplicated joy, and she brought just that.
There is something magical about how animals help us stay present, soften our hearts, and remember to play. Rosie has been a daily reminder that renewal can show up in wagging tails, muddy paw prints, and early-morning snuggles.

She is a gift of pure delight.

The Big One: I Wrote My Book

And then there’s the part that still makes me say, “Did I really do that?”

I wrote my book.

After years of teaching, thousands of classes, countless conversations, and decades of lived experience… something inside me said now.
The words poured out—not from obligation, but from an inner knowing that it was time.

This book is the culmination of everything I’ve lived, learned, healed, and held.
It is a tapestry of wisdom and wellness, a snapshot of my heart in this season of life.
It is my offering.
My renewal.
My beginning again.

Writing it stretched me, surprised me, and awakened parts of my creativity that had been sleeping under the weight of survival mode. More than anything, it reminded me of my purpose—and my voice.

As I Step Into 2025

Renewal is not a return to who I used to be.
It’s an unfolding.
A softening.
A reclaiming.

This year brought endings, beginnings, and a lot of gentle in-between moments.
It taught me that clarity often arrives only after the letting go.
That healing isn’t linear.
That courage can be quiet.
And that renewal is a choice we make every single day.

As I step into 2025, I do so with gratitude, openness, trust and renewal.

My sankalpa of Renewal has been eye-opening and just rich. What is next? Stay tuned as I reveal my word for 2026! It is going to be a good one!

Living Mary Oliver’s Wisdom: Paying Attention, Being Astonished, and Sharing Your Story

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Living Mary Oliver’s Wisdom Through Healing, Teaching, and Everyday Wonder**

There are some quotes that stay with us, not because they’re clever or inspiring, but because they feel like a compass pointing us back to ourselves. Mary Oliver’s simple yet profound guidance has been one of those touchstones for me:

“Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”

I return to these words again and again — especially during seasons of change, healing, or uncertainty. They’ve shaped the way I teach, the way I write, and the way I share my story with the world. And the more life I live, the more I realize how true they are.

Pay Attention

Paying attention is an act of devotion.
It’s choosing presence over autopilot.
It’s noticing the way your breath settles your nervous system.
It’s honoring the wisdom of your body — even when it’s hurting, even when it’s asking you to slow down.

In my own healing journey, paying attention has been my teacher. It’s also what inspired so many of the reflections and weekly practices in 52 Weeks of Wisdom & Wellness. When we pause long enough to notice the subtle shifts within us, we create space for renewal.

Be Astonished

Life asks us to be astonished — not in a loud, dramatic way, but in the soft moments that catch our breath.

A sunrise after a difficult night.
The way community gathers and holds us.
The resilience that keeps rising even when we feel worn down.
The capacity for joy that still lives in us, quietly waiting.

Being astonished is not about pretending everything is perfect. It’s about allowing ourselves to be moved, touched, awakened by the small wonders that sustain us.

Tell About It

This is the part of the quote that has shaped my work the most.

Telling about it — through writing, teaching, mentoring, or public speaking — is how we weave connection. It’s how we share our healing in a way that encourages others to find their own. It’s why I wrote my book. It’s why I continue to speak to caregivers, yoga teachers, and communities who need support.

Storytelling is healing.
Storytelling is service.
Storytelling is how we whisper to one another, “You’re not alone.”

Every time I stand in front of a group, turn on a camera, or sit down at my keyboard, I carry Mary Oliver’s words with me. They help me stay rooted in what matters: presence, awe, and truth.

A Gentle Reminder for Your Day

Wherever you are in your own season of life, may these words remind you to slow down, breathe deeper, and return to what is real and meaningful.

Pay attention to the small things.
Let yourself be astonished.
And tell your story — because your voice, your wisdom, and your lived experience matter more than you know.