Some people don’t realize how hard it is to make that first phone call to a therapist. It’s not the call that’s hard; it’s the asking for help . . . admitting that we need help. In college I majored in psychology, a subject that lit my mind with fascination, and therapy led me back into the world of personal and psychological development. It felt like the hand of Destiny had once again inspired me to relocate and I moved to Boston, a hub in the 1980s for personal growth, particularly for survivors of incest and child abuse.
Once I had stepped into this stream of self-awareness and self-healing, I allowed the current to carry me along into broader and deeper experiences of learning and growing, where I found wisdom at every turn. I had the opportunity—the motivation and the courage—to attend personal and spiritual growth classes and workshops at various places such as:
Every one of these experiences opened my heart a bit more, introduced me to more bits of myself, helped me to raise my wings, and on the wind of grace I was and am able to keep on keeping on—through pain, loss, heartbreak, fear, confusion, and even the darkest nights. I remember hearing a quote about healing during the early years on this path: “Healing is a journey, not a sudden landing.” For me, the journey continues . . .