For many of us, news of Alice Munro’s complicity in her daughter’s sexual abuse brings up a lot of —- silence. And here is the neurological reason why . . .

As I renovate a little house in Greece, I ponder friendship and betrayal, betrayal blindness and meditation, the healing power of olive trees and of not killing, not even a mosquito . . .

The blog post that calls for a ceasefire, features dancing in Al Quds and Ramallah, and admires the glittering connection between Palestinian and Greek dancing.

When was the last time someone betrayed you in a serious way?

The harm was profound, possibly life-changing. Yet, you may have felt the whole thing was, in some way, your own fault. Maybe you even let it go (again), or minimized the betrayal.

When we are egregiously betrayed in childhood, we often do not remember or frame the hurtful experience as betrayal for years, even decades.

This is because we depend on our caregivers for survival: if something is wrong, it’s often safer for a child to believe that she is the problem; it’s her fault. This is more tolerable than believing the parents upon whom our survival depends are irresponsibly harming and endangering us . . . Years later, we may find ourselves choosing unreliable and even abusive partners and friends. Betrayal becomes part of regular life.

Thirteen simple steps for preparing emotionally, physically and spiritually for creative work. This is the proven flow-inducing practice we use in The Couragerous Writer’ Academy and The Courage Room Collective.

Quoting the wonderful John O’Donohue, I conceive of our breath as blessing—and the blessing of our breath, when directed skilfully, can help us with healing. Here is an exericise for you to try, and some wisdom from John O’D:

When we bless, we are enabled somehow to go beyond our present frontiers and reach into the source. A blessing awakens future wholeness. We use the word 'foreshadow' for the imperfect representation of something that is yet to come. We could say that a blessing forebrightens the way.

A blog post about the wisdom of not getting it all done. Instead, author and therapist Karen Connelly suggests embracing the last stanza from a famous poem: listen to the mermaids singing. Go swimming. Take a breath.

I recently made a promise, to document shifts of mind--nudges of the neural pathways--around my own habitual patterns. This started out as The Managing Christmas PTSD Project, and now extends into the New Year. .

Here are a few shift gifts I've been giving myself regularly, and pass on to you: Simple, tested techniques for calming the nervy system and taking care of ourselves when the stress is high or when we feel triggered for whatever reason.

I was still smiling, but already clenching my jaw, slipping into an internal narrative and a very old story that something is wrong, none of this is the way it’s supposed to be.

That story has its roots in my earliest childhood, when my parents battled it out at Christmas, because my mother was a Jehovah’s Witness (so we were all going to die forever for getting presents) and my father was an alcoholic Catholic (do we were all going to hell if we didn’t get presents) . . .

Here are two simple somatic ways to return to the present of your own Christmas rather than getting sucked in to the old narratives (and emotions) of the past . . .

.

How can we change our habits? When we work with our imaginations, we have a direct fast-track into our brains. Karen contemplates reaching out to Vladimir Putin to try to change the world.

Adam Capay, still in his orange prison clothes, but very close to his release from jail, after an abhorrent miscarriage of justice.

Returning to my beloved other home on a Greek island was not as easy I was hoping it would be. But with the help of olive trees, friends, and an unexpected visitor in the night, I find my balance in this ancient, beloved, and ever-changing olive grove.