Guided Imagery and Narrative Revision
During Life Transitions
- an excerpt from an article by Linda Blachman, MPH, MA, CPC
Linda Blachman is a certified life coach and imagery guide in private practice with a specialty in navigating adults through life transitions. She is author of Another Morning: Voices of Truth and Hope from Mothers with Cancer, based on her work from 1995-2005 as founder and executive director of the San Francisco Bay Area-based Mothers’ Living Stories Project.
Guided imagery entered my life in 1994 when I developed a condition that threatened my way of life and sense of self. An inoperable back injury led to three years of disability and uncertainty as to whether I would walk again. During that time, my job ended, my mother died, and my daughter graduated high school and left home. My world collapsed along with my spine. Only in retrospect did I understand that a chapter of my life had ended and that the prolonged transition I was entering would alter my direction and lead me to my truest work. Even more slowly came the realization that the worst kinds of life changes – the ones foisted upon us – can become our greatest opportunities for positive self-development.
Most of us fight uninvited change, and I was no exception. For months I railed against my new reality of chronic pain, dependency and isolation, trying every which way to “go back” to the way things had been and the identity I had known. It didn’t work. Forced to choose between brain death by staring at the television’s flickering lights or possible brain growth by entering introspection’s seeming darkness, I chose the latter and began to develop a side of myself that had been starving for attention. Confined to home or bed, it is still possible to travel vertically –up into spirit life, down into soul life. In between physical therapy and medical appointments, I meditated, attended to dreams, wrote, wept, waited, and read illness narratives to learn how others worse off coped. Without realizing what I was doing, I also conducted a life review that began a process of integrating the past and reclaiming my natural gifts and deepest longings.
And then guided imagery became a central transitional tool. In only one session, a psychotherapist
friend taught me how to use imagery to relax, relieve pain and find a safe internal place. Frightened, sick and lost, I found solace in visiting my secret garden, elaborating its furnishings and décor and inhabiting it with friendly animals that became inner guides while easing my loneliness. The desperate quest for pain relief evolved into a daily pilgrimage to my inner depths. I looked forward to opening the gate to my sanctuary, greeting its intriguing cast of characters, and peering into a deep pond ringed by rocks in the garden’s center.
One day a string of words in a language I had thought long forgotten arose in a vaporous mist from the pond’s dark waters. Deciphering these clues initiated an exciting period of self-discovery. Although my physical recovery would take years, the creative process of soul reclamation had begun. Little by little, following the symbolic breadcrumbs of the imaginal world led to my healing and ability to bring healing to others. As I learned to walk again, I also revised my life and narrative into one far more authentic, vital and deeply rooted in my essential self than any I had known before. The images from the pond ultimately coalesced into a vision that became a template and plan for a nonprofit organization I would direct over the next decade – my next major life chapter.
To read the entire article and more about Linda visit: http://lindablachman.com
© Linda Blachman 2011 All rights reserved
During Life Transitions
- an excerpt from an article by Linda Blachman, MPH, MA, CPC
Linda Blachman is a certified life coach and imagery guide in private practice with a specialty in navigating adults through life transitions. She is author of Another Morning: Voices of Truth and Hope from Mothers with Cancer, based on her work from 1995-2005 as founder and executive director of the San Francisco Bay Area-based Mothers’ Living Stories Project.
Guided imagery entered my life in 1994 when I developed a condition that threatened my way of life and sense of self. An inoperable back injury led to three years of disability and uncertainty as to whether I would walk again. During that time, my job ended, my mother died, and my daughter graduated high school and left home. My world collapsed along with my spine. Only in retrospect did I understand that a chapter of my life had ended and that the prolonged transition I was entering would alter my direction and lead me to my truest work. Even more slowly came the realization that the worst kinds of life changes – the ones foisted upon us – can become our greatest opportunities for positive self-development.
Most of us fight uninvited change, and I was no exception. For months I railed against my new reality of chronic pain, dependency and isolation, trying every which way to “go back” to the way things had been and the identity I had known. It didn’t work. Forced to choose between brain death by staring at the television’s flickering lights or possible brain growth by entering introspection’s seeming darkness, I chose the latter and began to develop a side of myself that had been starving for attention. Confined to home or bed, it is still possible to travel vertically –up into spirit life, down into soul life. In between physical therapy and medical appointments, I meditated, attended to dreams, wrote, wept, waited, and read illness narratives to learn how others worse off coped. Without realizing what I was doing, I also conducted a life review that began a process of integrating the past and reclaiming my natural gifts and deepest longings.
And then guided imagery became a central transitional tool. In only one session, a psychotherapist
friend taught me how to use imagery to relax, relieve pain and find a safe internal place. Frightened, sick and lost, I found solace in visiting my secret garden, elaborating its furnishings and décor and inhabiting it with friendly animals that became inner guides while easing my loneliness. The desperate quest for pain relief evolved into a daily pilgrimage to my inner depths. I looked forward to opening the gate to my sanctuary, greeting its intriguing cast of characters, and peering into a deep pond ringed by rocks in the garden’s center.
One day a string of words in a language I had thought long forgotten arose in a vaporous mist from the pond’s dark waters. Deciphering these clues initiated an exciting period of self-discovery. Although my physical recovery would take years, the creative process of soul reclamation had begun. Little by little, following the symbolic breadcrumbs of the imaginal world led to my healing and ability to bring healing to others. As I learned to walk again, I also revised my life and narrative into one far more authentic, vital and deeply rooted in my essential self than any I had known before. The images from the pond ultimately coalesced into a vision that became a template and plan for a nonprofit organization I would direct over the next decade – my next major life chapter.
To read the entire article and more about Linda visit: http://lindablachman.com
© Linda Blachman 2011 All rights reserved
Coping with Cancer and Anxiety: Breathing, Relaxing, Being
excerpt from article in ChicagoNow.com
By Kerri Morris
Kerri MorrisI am a writing professor who lives in the suburbs south of Chicago. I've lived my life in the deserts and mountains of New Mexico, the tundra of Alaska, and, now, in Chicagoland. If I could have lived a different life, I would have chosen to be taller and to play point guard for Pat Summitt's Lady Vols. Instead I've gotten to live my life as a writer and reader, a teacher and student, a cook and a bike rider with my husband, daughter and two cats.
People with cancer experience anxiety in every imaginable form. Sometimes it’s a siren scream and other times it’s the irregular drip of a faucet. Anxiety is intrusive and distracting. It grinds away and swallows. If there were a competition for the worst part of having cancer, anxiety would win hands down.
I have been learning how to cope with cancer and the anxiety in my life through a “Guided Imagery” class at the Cancer Support Center. My daughter and I attend together, and we look forward to the 45-minute session all week
The idea of sitting still and being “in the moment” is repugnant to me. In the past, when I’ve tried to relax I’ve felt claustrophobic and trapped. I’m a restless spirit, a high energy caffeine addict.
After being diagnosed with cancer, however, anxiety and fear became intolerable. Thankfully, I was directed to the Cancer Support Center and the “Guided Imagery” class.
We sit in a dimly lit room, eyes closed, listening to one of the counselors reading a script. Sometimes the script walks us through relaxation techniques, moving from head to toe, reminding us to breathe and exhale, breathe and exhale.
We are taken on boats, to beaches, to meadow, and forests. We find treasures, walk up stairs, fly, and swim. We leave behind our luggage, imagine gifts and people.
I discovered that after 10 minutes of relaxation and imagining, no matter where we were guided or what the script said, I was relaxed. I found myself in some sort of blank place, dissociated from my life and my fears and responsibilities.
At the end of 45 minutes the feeling of calm goes all the way to the bone. I have reluctance to leave this blank place almost every time.
This regular practice of stopping and being in the present, of zoning out and falling into blankness has rescued me and seen me through some very dark times, providing a way of coping with cancer and anxiety.
By Kerri Morris
Kerri MorrisI am a writing professor who lives in the suburbs south of Chicago. I've lived my life in the deserts and mountains of New Mexico, the tundra of Alaska, and, now, in Chicagoland. If I could have lived a different life, I would have chosen to be taller and to play point guard for Pat Summitt's Lady Vols. Instead I've gotten to live my life as a writer and reader, a teacher and student, a cook and a bike rider with my husband, daughter and two cats.
People with cancer experience anxiety in every imaginable form. Sometimes it’s a siren scream and other times it’s the irregular drip of a faucet. Anxiety is intrusive and distracting. It grinds away and swallows. If there were a competition for the worst part of having cancer, anxiety would win hands down.
I have been learning how to cope with cancer and the anxiety in my life through a “Guided Imagery” class at the Cancer Support Center. My daughter and I attend together, and we look forward to the 45-minute session all week
The idea of sitting still and being “in the moment” is repugnant to me. In the past, when I’ve tried to relax I’ve felt claustrophobic and trapped. I’m a restless spirit, a high energy caffeine addict.
After being diagnosed with cancer, however, anxiety and fear became intolerable. Thankfully, I was directed to the Cancer Support Center and the “Guided Imagery” class.
We sit in a dimly lit room, eyes closed, listening to one of the counselors reading a script. Sometimes the script walks us through relaxation techniques, moving from head to toe, reminding us to breathe and exhale, breathe and exhale.
We are taken on boats, to beaches, to meadow, and forests. We find treasures, walk up stairs, fly, and swim. We leave behind our luggage, imagine gifts and people.
I discovered that after 10 minutes of relaxation and imagining, no matter where we were guided or what the script said, I was relaxed. I found myself in some sort of blank place, dissociated from my life and my fears and responsibilities.
At the end of 45 minutes the feeling of calm goes all the way to the bone. I have reluctance to leave this blank place almost every time.
This regular practice of stopping and being in the present, of zoning out and falling into blankness has rescued me and seen me through some very dark times, providing a way of coping with cancer and anxiety.
My Wild Guided Imagery Cancer Adventure
http://voices.yahoo.com/
writer Elizabeth Danu tells about how she used imagery to deal with her breast cancer by imagining her white blood cells to be strong and powerful destroying the "intruder" of cancer.
Here is an excerpt to you now from her story:
On the morning I began chemotherapy, I met my cancer in a dream, and he was wild. Not smart, but crazy, aggressive, and scary He was in my house, waving a broom to bludgeon me with. He was only in the front hall. He hadn't made it upstairs, into the living room, or the kitchen.
I knew I needed plenty of white blood cells to get me through. Oh, they were so beautiful! I love my white blood cells. They emerge from the rich brown earth (my bones) and take shape in pairs. They are strong and powerful, a male and a female sent out into the world of my body to keep it safe. They look like Greek gods, dressed in tunics of white and gold. They are very tall, and they have wings. They are noble, and they are relentless. Any intruder is destroyed immediately with a beam of gleaming light like a thousand suns that comes straight from their hands. If two of them are not enough, they communicate telepathically to other pairs of guardians, until there are enough to surround the threat completely. To this day I am grateful to these majestic and fearsome protectors of my body. My beautiful white blood cells are still there, protecting me.
writer Elizabeth Danu tells about how she used imagery to deal with her breast cancer by imagining her white blood cells to be strong and powerful destroying the "intruder" of cancer.
Here is an excerpt to you now from her story:
On the morning I began chemotherapy, I met my cancer in a dream, and he was wild. Not smart, but crazy, aggressive, and scary He was in my house, waving a broom to bludgeon me with. He was only in the front hall. He hadn't made it upstairs, into the living room, or the kitchen.
I knew I needed plenty of white blood cells to get me through. Oh, they were so beautiful! I love my white blood cells. They emerge from the rich brown earth (my bones) and take shape in pairs. They are strong and powerful, a male and a female sent out into the world of my body to keep it safe. They look like Greek gods, dressed in tunics of white and gold. They are very tall, and they have wings. They are noble, and they are relentless. Any intruder is destroyed immediately with a beam of gleaming light like a thousand suns that comes straight from their hands. If two of them are not enough, they communicate telepathically to other pairs of guardians, until there are enough to surround the threat completely. To this day I am grateful to these majestic and fearsome protectors of my body. My beautiful white blood cells are still there, protecting me.
Using Imagery to Enhance Standard Cancer Treatment
How Guided Imagery Has Helped Me Get Well and Stay Well
and from another article
by Elizabeth Danu
http://voices.yahoo.com/
The practice of imagery is nothing new. Most of us are using imagery all the time. One of my teachers would always start her talk on imagery with "do you know how to worry?"
How vivid are the pictures you make in your mind when you worry? When you have been worrying, do you feel it in your shoulders, your neck, your head? Do you have trouble sleeping? If imagery is that powerful when turned against ourselves, how powerful can it be when it used in a positive way, to help ourselves instead?
It is very, very powerful and effective. I know this from experience. There is imagery for just about anything you can imagine happening in your body. I have used it to calm myself, to sleep, to get myself motivated to do something important or difficult, to enhance my immune system, increase my white and red blood cell counts and to enhance the effectiveness of the chemotherapy I received to fight an aggressive cancer.
by Elizabeth Danu
http://voices.yahoo.com/
The practice of imagery is nothing new. Most of us are using imagery all the time. One of my teachers would always start her talk on imagery with "do you know how to worry?"
How vivid are the pictures you make in your mind when you worry? When you have been worrying, do you feel it in your shoulders, your neck, your head? Do you have trouble sleeping? If imagery is that powerful when turned against ourselves, how powerful can it be when it used in a positive way, to help ourselves instead?
It is very, very powerful and effective. I know this from experience. There is imagery for just about anything you can imagine happening in your body. I have used it to calm myself, to sleep, to get myself motivated to do something important or difficult, to enhance my immune system, increase my white and red blood cell counts and to enhance the effectiveness of the chemotherapy I received to fight an aggressive cancer.