On the last day of my 59th year, I attended a Body Esteem Educator Training Course run by the Butterfly Foundation. The irony of the situation wasn’t wasted on me, a recovered anorexic learning about body esteem.
What was I doing? What was I looking for? Food for thought here.
I’m reflecting. I’m evaluating my input into people’s lives. It’s what I do as a physiotherapist in a Community Health Centre. Life’s tough out there. I’ve changed my practices, as I do periodically in the search of excellence. The general health question is a mire, extract, untangle, add up …
People come to me for answers and hope. I’m blessed to have time to listen, time to ask. I’ve added a new question:
‘How’s your mental health?’
It’s a keeper. It a leveler. If you have the kindness and courage to touch their pain, it creates rapport and success. Seeds blew in the spring wind this morning, each also had a story.
Winter winds battered the side of the house.
The ferocity left its mark,
My welcome plaque lay on the ground,the petal of one of the flowers shattered.
In my mind I tried to piece it together, a habit of mine.
Slow to die.
Traveling for the past six weeks, my perspective changed. I admit it had to.
Turkey invited me to share her concern for the changes which may tether liberal thought, as war and politics spread the glue of fear. I knew fear, my novel unaltered for months now. Feeling guilty, I kept mulling but not writing.