Part 2: Neuroscience & the Origin of Music

Music & Our Brains: Part One

Ever wonder what's going on in your brain when you listen to music? Here's part 1 of a short series focusing on the neuroscience of music and social connection.

Transformative Grief

Autumn and winter are seasons of shedding, releasing, and rest. It marks the ending of a cycle and the beginning of a respite. Within this space of darkness and stillness, we can focus on our dreams and desires before we can manifest them or plant seeds when the "light returns" in the spring. If you look all around us, nature welcomes this theme of change, death, and grief. But what is often overlooked, is the creative, transformative energy of grief.

If we intentionally sat in our bodies and somatically felt every curve and every crevice of grief from the inside out, what would it feel like? My own grief felt subtle at first –intuitively knowing there was upcoming change. The feeling bled like watercolor on parchment, gently and silently moving in. Then it hit me like glass shattering on the floor –that startled gasp of air, that punch in the stomach. And it’s like my body just sank and there’s this heaviness that makes it hard to breathe fully and deeply again. Right around here is when I try to push it down, avoid it, make myself go numb, trying not to allow it to reach my eyes and turn into tears. If I’m successful and it gets put on hold, it’s like this stuck pocket of air, but when it releases, it’s like this wave of sorrow that feels raw and visceral.

I allow myself to surrender and be carried into a moment of stillness and calm. But something feels like –like I’m unknowingly wearing my favorite sweater inside out and it’s this feeling of home mixed with unease and discomfort. I become aware of the absence and emptiness around me, and then it starts all over again. I can see nature reflected in my soft and slow movements, and in the way, my feelings can shift so gradually back into sadness like the color-changing leaves or the haphazard rain showers. It’s oddly comforting, knowing I’m not alone and that the trees outside are going through their own death and rebirth. And if I perceive nature as my model, I can see how fearlessly and gently it welcomes this idea of change. For the natural world, death isn’t an ending –it’s part of this endless cycle of growth, abundance, deterioration, death, release, and renewal. With time, my grief has shifted into the morning after a forest fire –some parts haven’t been put out yet while smoke rises from the hot, wet soil. And it’s in this space that I imagine this alchemized creation.

Tarot has always been a practice of mine, but through this period, it’s been especially helpful in navigating grief and integrating intentionally through routines and rituals. I’ve had my Tower and Death (change) moments and I feel like I’m gradually moving into the Star (hope, relief). The tarot messages I’ve been receiving have been to let go without resistance, allow life to unfold and progress, to face the shadows to get to the light, a rebirth, phoenix energy, to find balance, to take stock in how I got to where I am, recognition, stillness, to be curious, to surrender, to expand, and an invitation of playfulness.

I can choose to harvest –what have I learned? How have I grown? What role did I play in all of this? What can I take with me? What should I let go of? What needs to be burnt away?

I can choose to hibernate and rest –what wounds need tending to? What healing and grief work can I practice? What other layers are being unearthed? What needs healing? What parts of me can I nourish? What does comfort and security feel like? What space can I clear to create something new and different in its place? What can I infuse into the soil to nourish the abundance that grows in the future?

We experience parts of grief all the time –every close of a chapter, every transition, first and last days of school or a job, the passing of the year and the seasons, every interaction that turns out to be the last. When we grieve, it brings up all past experiences of grief. We mourn memories of comfort, love, happiness, fun, intimacy, and more. We can grieve what could have been and the potential of something breathtaking. Grief is like this loving energy that no longer has a place to go –and that’s the necessary spark needed for this raw creativity. It’s limitless, expansive, fierce, intuitive, and rich, and it can heal and nourish you if you surrender to it.

3 Elements of Self-Compassion

Self-compassion is something that comes up often in conversations about healing, but what exactly does it mean?

The Psychology of Autumn

Your room, home, neighborhood, city, state you live in, weather, social climate, and work, among countless other factors can impact your well-being. Of course, the changing seasons can significantly affect our mental health as well. Rake in the mental health benefits of the season!

Information Regarding Intimate Partner Violence (IPV)

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month to spark consciousness raising discussions about what abuse is, how to support those impacted, and to bring about protective legislation. While intimate partner violence (IPV) affects 1 in 3 women in their lifetime, with 16-24 years at the highest risk, there's a significant gap missing from the public discourse of what abuse can look like. Psychological aggression or emotional abuse is even more prevalent than physical and sexual IPV, with as many as half of women experiencing this in their lifetime. It's covert, often under the guise of love, and it can feel like you're losing your mind -this is why there's often such a disconnect when we struggle to name what abuse can be.