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operationwell · 4 years

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Reflections on Past Institutionalization

Today was the day that I knew would be coming. The day I would have to face, process, and differentiate between my past experiences in psychiatric facilities, and my future stays. I know that all of this doesn’t necessarily happen in one day, but rest assured - it is happening.

5 years ago, In April of 2015, I entered a hospital in Schaumburg, IL at around 8pm. My Auntie had heard that this hospital offered free psychiatric evaluations, and we had planned to go and have a simple assessment where they could provide insight into which medications were hurting and which were helping my cause. About 6 weeks prior to this, I had been prescribed Celexa as an antidepressant and it caused my depression and anxiety to skyrocket beyond my control, and I became flooded with suicidal ideation. My doctor (the psychiatrist of every student on psych medications throughout my university) insisted that I remain on the medication for 6 weeks. As my symptoms worsened, he prescribed me Trazodone as a sleeping aid and Klonipen to help with my multiple panic attacks daily. As medications were thrown at me, my health worsened. I struggled with sleep disturbances (insomnia, night terrors, inconsistent sleep schedule), I lost weight (food quickly became unappealing on the medications, I had no appetite, I had difficulty eating as I would become nauseous and vomit during and after consuming food) and my health deteriorated. I stopped going to Yoga and working out multiple times a week because I was no longer functional enough to continue. My grades slipped and I received 3 “incomplete”s in my classes and had to finish my work months later for credit. I dropped my commitments to the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless, alongside many clubs and school groups. I was closeted from my family and all but 2 friends, I had recently broken up with my partner of 3 years. I was in therapy on my college campus, and nothing seemed to be working... so a free psych evaluation sounded like the right thing to do.

That day, I received an award from Loyola University Chicago School of Communications that I was their top student in the Advocacy and Social Change program. Little did the school staff know that within a few hours I would be Baker Acted. I got dressed up and invited my Auntie and 2 friends to the celebration. Like most days when the world feels like it is crumbling, I laughed and smiled and moved through the motions. Saying goodbye to my friends, I packed a weekend bag to head to the suburbs, this was typical seeing that my Auntie is one of my closet friends and mentors, and I frequently “ran away” to her guest room in order to escape my troubles. We agreed to go to dinner with my uncle and cousin, then go for the free evaluation. I pushed food around on a plate and I drank a Shirley Temple with my then 9 year old cousin, Dylan.

I entered the hospital with Auntie late in the evening. I put in my headphones to listen to Bon Iver because my anxiety was triggered by the hospital environment. I filled out a form that asked two yes/no questions:

Within the last 24 hours, have you had thoughts of killing yourself? Yes No

If yes, do you have a plan to kill yourself? Yes No

I circled yes for both.

I told myself that dishonesty was not going to get me the help I needed, so I told the truth. After I handed in that questionnaire, my hands were tied. No matter what I said in the clinical evaluation, they would legally have to keep me under the Baker Act. I tried to explain the ways that the medications I was taking were making it worse, how my anxiety and depression were related to trauma, but they were not interested in that. They were interested in protecting me from the threat of myself. The admissions staff informed me that I would be staying for the next few days in the hospital. When I protested and tried to leave, they threatened to call the police. I looked to my Auntie for guidance and she broke down saying “I am so sorry, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I knew they would take you from me”. My auntie is the light of my life and even though this experience was incredibly trying, I am so glad that she was there with me holding my hand and making sarcastic jokes throughout the process. She was, and continues to be, my rock and my safe space. Thank you, Auntie.

I was stripped of my clothes, searched, asked to squat and cough. I was brought into the adult ward with nothing besides the clothes I wore in, and a notebook. I was shocked as I finished the evaluation process - it was now the middle of the night. One of the night staff saw me enter my room and was intrigued because “I don’t look like the other patients in here” to which my response was “what should I look like?” we spoke about religion, and what my goals were; I shared with him my purpose - to bring peace to the world through advocacy, conflict resolution, and vulnerability. He was kind. He very well might have been an angel. But I am convinced he was real. He gave me a gift, and I still have it. A book about hope, religion, and peace. Inside the front cover he wrote “Be at peace and know that you are love”. When he left my room less than 30 mins later, I showered and got into my bed, I slept till the techs woke me to take my blood and I never saw that man again.

The next 72 hours consisted of sharing a room with an older woman who insisted on being naked 24/7 and caused plenty of problems in the ward, attending all-day therapy and coping skill development groups, trying to convince the doctors and nurses I was cured and able to leave, attempting to escape my parents worried calls, being constantly poked and prodded by nursing staff, commiserating with other patients (most of whom were much older than me), and coloring in mandalas and calling it “art therapy”.

During this stay, the psychiatrist kept my diagnosis of depression and anxiety and added “You need to watch out for Bipolar”. He immediately started me on Abilify, an antipsychotic, and after 3 days was convinced the Abilify helped enough to discharge me. I went straight to the pharmacy after my stay and found the medication was $116/ pill. The drug was new, did not have a generic at the time, and I could not afford that, so I discontinued the use of the medication.

By this time, I am deeply concerning my parents and they have bought me a one way flight to South Florida for the summer after my sophomore year. I was planning on working at Boston College for the summer and spending my entire junior year abroad in the Philippines and Vietnam, but the international travel was not brought to fruition. My parents were hurt by my secrecy, terrified, and looking to help alleviate some of my suffering. They helped me to get to a psychiatrist that might be able to help with the medication situation, and he did. I was put on Zyrexa, an antipsychotic, and the next day the sun came out. I stayed on the medication for over 4 years, but it caused grueling side effects including excessive sleeping, sedation, mixed mood episodes, and extreme weight gain to name a few.

After I was institutionalized, I told myself that I would try whatever I could to avoid the trauma, the expense, and the repetition of my experience in the ward. I felt that while I was held there, I was a prisoner, I had no rights, I had no resources, and I had a one person support system. I never wanted to go back.

Now, I am in very different shoes. I have knowledge and information. I have an entire degree dedicated to better understanding mental health and the system, I have years of experience working clinically in the field, and I have an incredible support system. I am currently seeking treatment to titrate off all unnecessary medications, to stabilize my mental and physical health, and to work intensively with clinicians on sustainable coping mechanisms. This is not like before.

Today I spent most of the day crying and wondering how I could possibly face being stripped of my agency and belongings again, being isolated from my supports again, and being forced to take medications without consent again. The answer that I found in my tears is that I don’t have to face that again. This new situation of seeking residential treatment is dredging up emotions and memories from my experience 5 years ago; but this is different. I am afraid, and I am allowing myself the grace to feel that fear and tend to it. As I care for myself I am also caring for my younger self, my self at 19, and at any other age when I felt alone, afraid, and out of options. Once I have done my tending, I am able to open my eyes and see that in the here and now I am surrounded by support, I am brave, and I am patient with my options.

I am surrounded by love. I am love. I am at peace.

Here is something I created in 2015 while in the psych ward. All text is quotes of staff and peers during my 3 day stay.

#psych ward #psych #mental health #triggers

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operationwell · 4 years

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ANTHEM

We grew, over time, by melting ourselves down. Hardening into different, easier molds. And slowly collecting the residue others left in the molds. The ones who came before us, they left some of themselves behind. We try to fit other’s abandoned parts into our melted self, but the collective trauma of losing our original shape begins to change our composition. Our pain mixes with that of others and our differences become muddled. We become more of the world, more of others, more of the molds, and less of ourselves. This is how we made it. This is how we have made it. And this is what we have been told we need to do to make it in a world filled with danger. It remains difficult to decipher whether or not the melting to grow is as dangerous as accepting the parts of us that spill out of the molds. Facing the truth that none of us fit, even those who the molds has served and advanced, even those do not fit. It is quite scary to imagine what would happen if we honored our origins, the passing down of both fear and disease through the molds, and chose to abandon the system instead of abandoning ourselves. We might be so empowered that our growth cannot be contained. We might consume the molds in a feast of transformation and let their simplicity nurture us. It is not fair to assume that the molds can be consumed, or better, forgotten with ease. We would have to organize our efforts. Educate. Plan a feast. And in the mean time, as the arrangements are made, we can boycott the melting. In the beginning, we grew, over time, by melting ourselves down. What would happen if we discontinued changing ourselves to fit into the world? We would be left with our most recent shape. We would look down at our shape and find either comfort or conflict, and without the molds to be melted into, we would use our hands to move and shift and experiment with who we are becoming. We will honor our changes over time, we will make space for complexity and simplicity. We will start riots and face oppression, but we will be a catalyst. Transformation will ripple off of us in ways we can’t begin to imagine. Others will begin to identify as sculptors too. They will pick themselves out of their context, pause, and sculpt themselves into themselves. This is what we need. The world will shake with the creativity and the difference of it all. It will be easy then, to plan a feast. A death of a system that didn’t reflect its members. And a birth of a population less frightened by looking inward for peace than looking outward for approval. We will make friends and have conflict in this new world, no doubt. But I am filled with hope knowing that the framework of authenticity will begin to reshape the experience of acceptance. We will be many of things. But we will not be hidden away, melted down, and silent.

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operationwell · 4 years

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Where I find depth, I find God

Where I find depth, I find God.

Places I have found energy, hope, and healing: (L to R)

Independence and walking the streets of Chicago. Seeking out my own truths, individuating from family

Persephone, and the study of many religions through peace and conflict, anthropology or clinical academia, finding God in learning more and growing in control of what I studied and wanted to pursue

HumansofBahai.wordpress.com

School of the Americas Watch while working with the Dorothy Day Catholic Worker house in Washington D.C. this is when I began to connect the power of indigenous and herbal medicines with the divine feminine

At the Vietnam veterans memorial in D.C. “a scar on the earth”; war and peace in American memories. Learning that organized religion and the ways governments use US vs. THEM to incite violence, grow separation and wage wars

Resurrection day, the seventh day, at Taize, France. When I prayed, kneeling and crying, I rested my head on the crucifix and asked forgiveness for needing to turn away from the church to protect myself

Dressed for Halloween as goddess, trying to convince myself that when I looked in the mirror I didn’t see flaws, also beginning my journey on independent self love post major breakup

Collected information from everyone I knew about the objects in their life most feared and most loved. Demonstrating the connection between adoration and anxiety. At this point, I wasn’t able to articulate what I was afraid of, that’s how afraid I was

“no justice, no peace” black lives matter and fighting corrupt, racist police and policy in Chicago

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operationwell · 4 years

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Body Neutrality Makes Space for Steady Worthiness

There isn’t a day that goes by where I do not judge my body in some way. Some days more than others. I also can’t remember a time where I didn’t care about my appearance. I recognize the ways that this self-critique has been ingrained not only in my hard-wiring, but also in my programming, and my entire environment. I was born into a female body, my body was subject to unachievable and patriarchal standards of beauty from a very young age. I do not remember exactly when I began hating my body, but I do know that it started exactly when I swallowed the belief that I had to be the best, kindest, most soft, most beautiful girl I could be. I was told to deny all the parts of me that the world didn’t like, didn’t find appropriate. I, like nearly all young girls today, Began controlling my body and my appearance with a self hate so powerful that the parts of me that didn’t fit in the box (the too loud, the too sensitive, the too strong, the too quiet, the too smart, the creative, the masculine, the queer, the uncanny) were shrunk and silenced and near the edge of oblivion.

So this body and its home and its street and its neighborhood and its town and its city and its region and its country and its continent and its entire physical world is drenched in a narrative that the authentic is never right, it needs to be edited and cropped and photo-shopped until it no longer resembles the self, and begins resembling the what is valued by the powers that be. Think about this for the same amount of time you would usually give to making your body, your clothes, hair, skin, size fit into the world’s boxes.

The people in power – who are they? Don’t fool yourself. They are way more than just Jeff Bezos and Donald Trump. Of course, we must note that the concentration of financial power within the top 1% gives control of so much to the hands of a few, and this disproportionate allocation of resources alone will shift the lives of nations. However, power is not only found in money. The powers that be are hierarchal and intersectional in nature. The power of wealth when combined with white supremacy and colonialism has and will extinguish entire ways of living, speaking, growing, and working. The power of patriarchy mixed with physical strength has and will objectify, devour, and strip not only women but also queer folks of their humanness, their agency, their creativity. The powers that be are based on the intersection of identities. The most notable of these identities are race, ethnicity, sex, gender, sexual orientation, religion, legal status, socioeconomic status, education level, age, citizenship status, trauma history and countless other identities that may fall outside these lines. These identities interact with one another, as the humans of the world are collections of both oppressed and privileged identities in each of these categories. We are a patchwork, a maze, some sort of puzzle you may find in a Sunday New York Times. We make sense, but we are complex. Too complicated, maybe, for many to even attempt at solving us. But if you have sat with me thus far into this argument you might have the clues, and the patience enough to be still, to bring your ear and your heart to the source of the pain, and to know the truth. Thank you for being here this far.

The world’s boxes are plenty. They are fairly detailed, too. They exist in polarities, they ask that you fall on either end of a spectrum. The want you to be black or white, girl or boy, rich or poor, an American or a terrorist, a republican or a democrat, a native or a colonizer, a good neighbor or a felon, worthy or not worthy. Not one human is born untouched by complexity. No body is an empty vessel. I exist as a key that simply doesn’t turn any one lock, we all don’t fit.

Welcome. This is my work. My inner work. The job I have dedicated most time and energy into for the last 2 years. I have researched and formed an understanding of my existence. I looked to the world for answers to questions I had of myself for years. I wanted to better know my heart by believing with every ounce of my being every belief I could get my hands on. I researched the major religions of the world. I went to temples. I got on my knees and prayed. I spent weeks in silence and reflection. I wrote and cried and moved in praise. I was disgusted and overjoyed at once. I was alive. I believed in everything.

I wanted to better know my purpose so I invested myself in communities and conflicts in order to help foster healing and understanding. My purpose has always been to put my heart and my ears quietly next to the suffering. To listen. To proceed accordingly. I went into the world and invested. I tried to live my purpose. I did. Every time. But it was not enough. I needed a better job, or I wasn’t making as sweeping of an impact as I had hoped, and I needed to contribute more. I love my need to grow but I must ask myself with intention, when will I be enough? When will my contribution be acceptable? And who makes those decisions? Is it me or is it the powers that be?

I was seeking answers in the world when I needed to seek answers in myself. My work has been severing the connection between my productivity and my worth, which is difficult being a member of the working class in a capitalistic society. My work is creative self-discovery, it is working and moving and acting with intention, it is letting truth guide my words and my hands, it is admitting fault, it is forgiving, it is knowing that my body is a vehicle for love.

When I embrace an incredibly complex understanding of my situation and its many contexts, I am better able to see the ways that the world has taught me to silence my authentic self. My work is to love my body, not for what it is, but for what it holds. I will love my body as it is the keeper of my compassion, my intellect, my hope. It is the keeper of my health. This is how I must relate to it. I must ignore all discussion of the way it does or doesn’t fit into the world’s boxes. This chatter is irrelevant to how my body feels and operates, it is just noise that has kept me hating myself for years. I will regard my body as a something unattached from my worth.

“Body positivity says, I love myself because I am beautiful. Body neutrality says: I love myself and that love has nothing to do with the way I look. I am much more than this body. This body is a vehicle for my existence. My worth is separate from it and because of that, my worth is steady. I am simply here, being in this flesh and bones.” – Emma Zeck

I will hold this truth of my worth with me. I know that my body will change. My body has done nothing but change since the start of my existence in human form. My body will continue to grow and shrink and age and adapt and wrinkle and sag as I come into contact with time and stress and trauma and nurturing. I know my body will change as I seek out holistic health. I have worried in the past about gaining or losing too much weight, about my cystic acne returning, about “keeping myself together” and not “letting myself go”. I no longer worry about my body changing. I know it will. I remain here in neutrality, knowing that my appearance does not always transparently display my self-love. In fact, my self love exists apart from my body. My worth is inherent, and does not falter when my body changes.

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operationwell · 4 years

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The Heart of Social Work - January 2020

“I know that the last four months have been incredibly difficult for you, you have failed every medication I have introduced, your diagnosis remains blurry despite psychological testing, and I can tell that you are getting tired”, she said. This is the voice of my psychiatrist, on a particularly heavy day in November of 2019. She continues, “Tired is a very dangerous way to feel, especially considering your symptoms, and I’m afraid you must seek alternative treatments because we have run out of options.” This quote is deepened by a rich history of complex and co-occurring symptomology since young adulthood, 6 full years of therapy including a diversity of modalities, over 30 prescriptions medications failed, the burden of 6 diagnoses over time, and the long lasting effects of trauma. In the midst of a complete deterioration in my mental And physical health, I finished last semester. My experiences as a patient and recipient of mental health services are complicated by a lack of an interdisciplinary approach to wellness, medication resistance, complex physical side effects of antipsychotics, shame and stigma, inter generational trauma related to mental health, and the exorbitant cost of therapy, pharmacy, and treatment even with decent insurance. I sit at a crossroads of privilege and oppression. I am under 26 and am grateful to be under my fathers insurance. I am naturally a self advocate. I am white. I am studying social work. I have knowledge of the best practices and treatments and my university provides access to millions of academic journals with applicable content. But, I struggle to afford the cost of copays and medications. I have experienced pharmaceutical malpractice as a too-common occurrence. I have been treated and referred out by 5 psychiatrists in the past 5 years. I have wandered into and out of 12 separate therapist offices looking for relief from the physical and mental pain I was in. I have been baker acted. I have lost 30 lbs. I have gained 80 lbs. I have lost 40 lbs. I have slipped the disk in my left and right jaw from extreme stress and withdrawals. I have been shamed by people I love. My potential has been questioned. I have had okay days turn awful and heavy days turn bright. I am a human being. I have been chewed and spit out by the medical industrial complex. I have found myself tired. I want to be a social worker because I have come far enough in my self love journey to know that I deserve better. We all deserve better. I am tired of the bypassing of human suffering because it makes people uncomfortable. I am tired of a lack of communication between my doctors, therapists, and psychiatrists. I am tired of losing hope for my care and the care of my family. I am tired of the inaccessibility of services to my clients. I am tired of the American illusion of superiority in health care. I am tired of silence and stigma. I am tired. I was once told that tired is a very dangerous way to feel. I looked at my psychiatrist in silence knowing she meant tired was dangerous because it meant giving up. I’m not sure how but I have found a way to convert my exhaustion into passion, my lack of options into a revolution, my trauma into an educational campaign, and my hopelessness into strength... but I’m here. And I know that that counts for something. I still have not found an appropriate treatment, medication, or regimen, but I continue to look. I am grateful that I have enough mental stability to finish my last semester of graduate school and move into the workforce. I know my journey is not in isolation, I am a social worker because of this. I am tired and it has become dangerous, not because I might give up, quite the opposite actually. I am dangerous because I threaten the status quo, the silence. My body is weaker than ever but my voice has never felt stronger.

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operationwell · 4 years

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I have been heavily medicated and physically and mentally unwell for the last 6 years. As a result of several diagnosis I have received from psychiatrists, I have tried and “failed” over 30 different prescription psychotropic medications, I have been labeled “medication resistant” by doctors without being given the resources needed to detox safely off these medications that my body had grown dependent on. Careful investigation into my wounds, shadows, and trauma through therapy has been enlightening and has sustained me with active coping skills, education, and a career. But my experiences of severe mood instability, chronic pain in my stomach, back, jaw, and neck, and fatigue were not alleviated by talk therapy. I was too busy in therapy, most weeks, managing the excruciating physical side effects of the medications I take, to spend time discussing trauma. For the last 6 years I have been unstably medicated, ravaged with adverse side effects that triggered even worse mood states. Its about time I detox off this harmful pharmaceutical mixture of medications. My body, mind and spirit deserve a break.

Dani Sullivan, 4/12/20

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operationwell · 4 years

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Meditating in the shower or bath, and in any body of water (especially on the shores of Mother Mother Ocean) brings light and helps me to remove harmful thoughts and clutter from my mind. I cleanse my energy once I have balanced thoughts and emotions. This has helped me for years and years.

I started a bath meditation and mindfulness /self love brand around essential oils and empowerment.

Witchywomanoils.com

@witchywomanoils on Instagram

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operationwell · 4 years

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Dani Sullivan, MSW

The Coronavirus Pandemic is shaking the fabric of our world. The way humans relate, eat, fear, work, love and cope are changing rapidly.

Before COVID19 entered US news rooms, I was finishing working on my Graduate Degree at Florida Atlantic University. I am graduating next month with my Masters in Social Work (MSW). Well... my diploma is getting mailed to me. I am not going to gloriously walk across any stage but that is quite all right with me because I have some big plans ahead for Operation Wellness, and it is imperative that my degree is complete before they can begin. Almost there!

My Career Path Thus Far: After receiving my Bachelor of the Arts Degree from Loyola University Chicago in Advocacy and Social Change, I served for a year with AmeriCorps in Chicago, IL. I worked with gangs, lgbtq+ youth, and victims of domestic violence; I educated people of all ages about sex, equality, justice, feminism, gentrification, and identify politics. After Living, Working and Learning for 5 years in Chicago, I abruptly moved home to South Florida after losing my source of income, and my apartment. Everything happened so fast, I was working my dream job mediating conflicts between parents and their runaway or homeless child. I was sexually assaulted by my direct supervisor, and when I reported it to HR they gave me two options: to continue to work under him while he went unreprimanded and I remained unprotected, or to leave. So I left, without enough money to cover my bills for even 1 month. My roommates forced me out so I packed my things within 24 hours and my dad flew to chicago to drive with me to Boca Raton, FL. It took us 21.5 hours. He is a miraculously compassionate and kind man. thank you dad.

I found myself in florida and quickly found 3 separate jobs. I was working as a Substitute Teacher for Palm Beach County School District daily alongside child care and babysitting for over 20 hours a week. I became a guardian ad litem. I traveled to many different cities, and I went on a trip of a lifetime to India and Singapore. I was in therapy and my therapist suggested that I go back to school for social work given my past experiences and passions. I went home from therapy that night and Googled “FAU Masters in Social Work”. The application was due at midnight the following day. BY some order of grace I got my application in and was quickly informed of my acceptance. For the last 2 years I have been swept up on a journey of educational discovery and personal and professional growth in the process of attaining my MSW. I have studied under the top researchers for sleep, sex and gender, and family therapies. I have researched and wrote. I have turned lectures into praxis and I have worked as a social worker in the real, true world, all along. I began my journey working with victims of domestic violence as a court advocate and state attorney liaison. My internship with the State Attorney Office Victim Advocate Unit challenged me in ways I didn’t anticipate. It solidified my distrust and deep dissatisfaction with the legal and criminal justice systems. I have always been someone seeking REFORM/REDISTRIBUTION, and my advocacy against systems of oppression has always been intersectional. I have sought out one thing for sure in all of my professional pursuits: to put my ear and my heart at the source of the pain: listen to its message, and tend accordingly.

For the last year, I have been working for a faith based family services organization as a clinical therapist and a outreach coordinator. My MSW Program is one of the best of its kind for Clinical Social Work. I entered graduate school looking to become a therapist. I entered the role and learned so much about technique, boundaries, and appropriate diagnostic analysis. I was surrounded by critical and thoughtful clinicians who wanted me to grow. I was a therapist to those many years younger, many years older, and people exactly my age. I worked with individuals and families and groups of all types. I found ways to heal that were empirically based and also person-centered and trauma-informed. I became a student to the immense, seemingly limitless interventions, theories, and modalities that bring healing of all shapes to people of all sorts. I wanted to heal and heal. I wanted to heal and heal. So... I did.

thanks for joining along this far, light. thank you.

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operationwell · 4 years

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What I am Doing Over Here

Operation Well was born out of a small ounce of hope. I swear to you, the goddess of today, April 14, 2020, delivered me a message to be recording, in a simple familiar way the shifts in my life and my world toward wellness.

I am starting this blog as a record I can return to, to remember my experiences, seek wisdom in the patterns, and find my center.

When I was 19, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder by a psychiatrist in a psych ward in Schaumburg, IL. This diagnosis, and the subsequent treatment and medicinal interventions that followed in my life, have led me here to age 24 3/4 (let my inner child play, she wants you to know how old she is!). It has been 6 years, down to the month, of my Baker Act and forced hospitalization in Illinois. I have been saturated and completely wiped out my medications, I have never been more unwell in my life since I began taking medications. I will elucidate these stories in greater detail, but the message is this:

I believe I have been misdiagnosed with Bipolar I disorder. I believe that the treatments I have received involving the prescription and consumption of psychotropic medication have made me unwell. I believe that my current physical state is one of a diseased body. My body has been polluted with the medications I have swallowed day after day. They have hurt my gut biome, the lining of my stomach and intestines, they have aged my adrenal system 60 years in the last 5, they have left me feeling fatigued, they have made my body dependent on very serious chemicals in order to function, so much so, that withdrawals from certain medications have nearly killed me in the past, even under strict medical supervision.

This is an operation to build hope. to infuse the dark with light. I have been feeling nearly swallowed whole by the darkness of my health situation for so many years, and I am bringing myself into the light. As i stumble forward on a half paved path towards holistic wellness.

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operationwell · 4 years

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Hello, my light, I hope you are well.

Hello everyone, I’m Dani. I’m beginning this operation in the midst of one of the biggest, world shifts I have ever experienced. COVID19 is currently ravaging my country. Disproportionately affecting the poor, most vulnerable people of the world.

Hi. I’m Dani. I have lots to say about wellness, physical and mental and spiritual and holistic. I am a student of my own experiences, I am a student of the 21st century, I am also a student in universities. I am constantly learning new and brave and terrifying things. I want to make sense of them for me, process this plentiful and abundant information and let it serve me in whatever way allows me to be more of who I already am. I am learning about myself as I learn about the world.

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operationwell · 4 years

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Welcome to Operation Well

Send down your pails- full of fear and despair, I will take in your waters of worry and disease. Move inward ever so, as your fears fall, I grow. My waters of wisdom and spirit and sass will welcome your worries in with a hug. Thank you for joining us down here. I know it can be dark and a little bit scary but listen, my love, this is where truth is buried. As we sing down this well, our lives are brought clarity, our wounds are brought to the surface to breathe, the games we played as children are reborn and we must quiet down to hear their whispers of laughter and curiosity. This is what I let guide my way. My inner child who plays and works; day in and day out to make sense of her world in an honest, imaginative, and limitless way. I invite myself home, feed myself with kindness, and watch my inner child grow! She comes out in colors, and in black and white. I let her explore and give her control, everything she touches can be trusted with her beauty, her intent, her wonder.

Here is an example of inner child Dani lounging in her favorite fuzzy sweater.

We listen and stumble. We know and create. We are guided by divine inner voices. Ancestral wisdom. The knowing here in our breath.

I am here at this well and in this well. Forever sending pails down and up. I am all the me’s I have ever been and I know that there is a way to feel better. I know that disease is the opposite of slow, intentional, easy, authentic life. Operation well is about feeling and thinking and living and being holistically well.

Send down your pails of dispair and fear and I will filter their waters through my own divine light, and send you back pails of clarity every time. This is what the Knowing Well is for. It is to listen. To put your ear and your heart to the source of the pain. To the still. To listen and tend accordingly.

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