Healing Through Community

Tragedies around the world can put us down, even when we’re hundreds of miles away. Turn on the news and we find out about the catastrophes in Ecuador and Texas. Families and communities were lost in minutes. We feel their pain, their sorrow, and their loss. Who are they going to for help?

Maybe you reach out and try to help through Red Cross. Or maybe you continue on your way, move through your day and place the tragedy at the back of your mind, not knowing how to help. Sometimes, we have too much of our own baggage that we simply must carry on. That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. How can we help someone else when we’re still figuring out our own lives? We are accustomed to dealing with our own battles and the problems we already have on our own plate. What we don’t see is that there are hands around us in our community to help lessen that weight.

For some of us, our plate is heavy. Too heavy. Some of that weight is invisible to the rest of the world. Many people don’t know that you went through some serious stuff and you’re still learning how to talk about it to those around you. You want to connect with people and not allow the memory, the trauma, to completely take over your life.

Turning off the memory takes therapeutic recovery. Memory is a powerful weapon that we often use against ourselves. Sometimes, it’s the main reason why we find it difficult to function. We’re hit with our memories, like one bullet after another, but we fail to realize that we’re the one pulling the trigger.

That is the effect of trauma. Many know that it resides in the mind, but some don’t know that it also rests deep in the body. In my internship with LA YOGA Magazine, I interviewed a survivor of human trafficking who confirmed that the assaults left a scar not just in her subconscious, but in her tissues and in her bones. The body is extremely sensitive. It doesn’t forget. It’s the one holding all of the stress and anxiety.

It hurts to revisit the sight of pain and band-aid it over and over again. We just want it to be healed, already, and not have to deal with it anymore. But the band-aid falls off. It’s not strong enough to hold you together.

The metaphors are tiresome, I know, but stick with me.

Perhaps you begin to truly heal by taking a little extra time to talk about it with your husband, sister, or someone close to you. You start to maybe even realize that your problems are manageable once you face them with another person by your side. For some, speaking to a counselor or a psychologist isn’t therapeutic at all; it might even bring on more anxiety. On the other hand, it may be the best thing for you to talk to someone outside of your family. Whoever that person is, they are stronger than that band-aid you used to cover up and forget the scars.

It’s not a cliche to say that ‘you are not alone’, because it’s the truth. You have an abundance of love, care and support around you. You are not weak or selfish by asking for help.

When you feel more than strong and ready, maybe you can volunteer to help lift someone else up. Slowly but surely, you will be able to see just how weightless that plate is and how unified your community is.

Watch the love for yourself and others grow. When that happens, you’re the hero in your own story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Internship Recap and Wrap-Up

I started on this journey with LA YOGA Magazine as an Editorial Assistant on January 9^th, 2015. I had no idea what was is in store for me, except that I would be researching human trafficking and yoga therapy. I also knew that I was in good hands with Felicia Tomasko, the Editor-in-Chief, who would help me construct the article for the magazine and serve as my mentor for journalism.

On the first day as an intern, I knew that this was going to be enriching and unique experience. Felicia invited me to have lunch in Santa Monica with her and other professionals who discussed films that centered on yogic journeys and spiritual messages. This wasn’t the meeting I had imagined. I imagined Felicia and I having discussing my research and the format of the article. However, because I had the opportunity to meet accomplished people in the yoga community, I gained more connections and, more importantly, an open mind.

Between the months of January and March, I found myself taking part in more unique events with Felicia that would lead to greater opportunities in journalism. For instance, I attended a yoga therapist training at Loyola Marymount University on January 11^th and learned more about what it would take to help survivors of human trafficking heal wounds of psychological, emotional and physical trauma.

Not only did this event help me to better understand a yoga therapist’s perspective, it helped me to better understand why I was even interested in trauma in the first place. As I say in a journal entry on January 15^th, “In December 2012, I was as a barista at Starbucks in downtown Riverside, California, when we were robbed at gunpoint. Luckily, no one was severely hurt …. But the psychological trauma impacted me more than I realized. Unexpected anxiety didn’t ‘bubble-up’ until 2014 when I was sitting in an English classroom discussing the ways trauma affects the subconscious mind in Toni Morrison’s Sula.” I understood why this internship, this research was so important to me as someone who has experienced trauma and found healing through dance and yoga.

I started outlining my article and met with Felicia to figure out how this piece should be constructed. In addition to this article, she gave me the opportunity of writing a 200-word book review for the March issue. She loaned me Richard Miller’s The iRest Program for Healing PTSD to write about. Reading his guidebook for victims of PTSD was not only necessary for writing the book review, it was helpful for writing the human trafficking and yoga therapy article. I even interviewed Richard over the phone, and learned that he helps women survivors of sexual exploitation through iRest (Integrative Restoration).

Felicia also introduced me to two organizations that help victims of human trafficking and prostitution: Unlikely Heroes and UpRising Yoga. Unlikely Heroes, founded by Erica Greve, rescues children in the Philippines, Mexico and Thailand from captivity and sexual slavery, providing them with shelter and an education. I was able to interview Erica and her Program Director over the phone to include their story in the article. UpRising Yoga has slightly different goals, because they provide yoga to incarcerated youth in Los Angeles. On February 22^nd, I attended a teacher training led by founder Jill Ippolito. This experience in particular helped with the construction of the article, since I learned more about yoga as a form of therapy for more than victims of sexual slavery and PTSD. Yoga is able to change the lives of troubled youth and help steer them down the path to a brighter future.

When Felicia and I got down to writing the article, she brought it to my attention that my piece was missing a very important part: a story about a person. In magazine writing, Felicia taught me that a good article begins by focusing on the story of a survivor. Luckily, I was introduced to D’Lita Miller, a survivor of sexual exploitation. After interviewing her and meeting her at the UpRising Yoga teacher training, I wrote the article using D’Lita’s inspirational story as my focal point to talk about yoga therapy and the modern-day slavery. Felicia helped me construct the piece to come full circle and end with her living a free life.

Being an Editorial Assistant for LA YOGA Magazine gave me a glimpse of what it would be like to work in the journalism field. With the article going to print in the April issue, I saw how long the process of writing quality content takes. The original intention was publishing the article in March, but I needed more time to focus on writing a solid piece that would go in my portfolio as I’m hunting for freelance writing jobs which is the next step after graduating in June. I have also been accepted into Northeastern University’s Master’s program in Journalism, so I’m starting to look around for freelance writing positions in Boston. Because I took part in this internship, I feel confident about landing a job in editorial, writing and publication.

The Final Sprint

I can almost feel that smooth piece of paper between my fingertips, declaring the end of a two-year quest to earn my Bachelor’s Degree in English. Declaring that I am worth something in the literary field.

Two years of writing under time constraint. Two years of sitting on my butt in a chair listening to someone teach me how to think critically. Nearly 730 days later, I am finally at the end.

You probably already know this, but I’m going to say it anyway: It took commitment. It took patience. Most of all, it took sacrifice.

I didn’t want to postpone that lunch date or dance class, but I needed to. I want to say that I’m sorry, and I probably already did. But the truth is that I can’t take back that time. I can only move forward from here.

Until that piece of paper lands into my hand, I am finishing these last assignments with a fierce amount of dedication; the sprint before the finish line. A finish line that won’t actually be a finish line.

Confession time.

I have been saying to my friends that I cannot wait until school is done, so I can spend more time with them. I want to believe this is true. I want to believe that the finish line truly means a finish line, and I can kick off my shoes, get a massage, go back to dancing and spending time with the people I care about.

There’s more to the race than the final sprint. Another race is coming called Graduate School. The end of the beginning is near, but this is just the beginning.

I’ve been accepted into Northeastern University’s Journalism Graduate School in Boston. I want to be there by August for their three-week “boot camp” course that helps the new journalism students get up to speed.

Even though I am on the edge of my undergrad seat about to celebrate the conclusion of this trek, I am keeping my gaze on a greater journey that will increase my chances of working in print media.

But it’s March 18th, for crying out loud! I am still on this final leg and trying not to let finals get the best of me. My mantra has been: “Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.”

Joan of Arc Armor

Journal No. 12

Today, I internalized the stories of trauma I heard about at UpRising Yoga teacher training without emotional or psychological armor. Their raw and honest stories of incarceration and human trafficking flooded the forefront of my mind. I was speaking to my mom about the event and suddenly began crying. I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the waterworks and get to work without looking like a total wreck. She lovingly guided me towards personal detachment, despite my habit of constantly reflecting on what I had heard as I went about my shift at the restaurant.

Yesterday, I listened to the story of a 19-year old girl who said she was one of the youth instructed to do yoga while in jail. “Doing yoga,” she said, “was one of the only things I had done right in my life.” Both parents in jail. I don’t know the rest of her story. But being close to her age, I reflected on my own parents and my own childhood. Her story literally hit home.

I saw the redevelopment of an impoverished community in Wilmington, California. The people had torn out a vacant parking lot where trash was thrown into, and they built a garden of fruits, vegetables and flowers. Volunteers tend to the garden beds and keep the soil fresh. Every Saturday, a farmer’s market is held here. Whatever produce is leftover is donated back to the community. The value of this project kept Wilmington nourished and unified. I saw my own neighborhood in conjunction with Wilmington, remembering my neighbors who provide our family with fresh oranges from their backyard trees. Another story that reminded me of home, a place that shaped who I am.

Jill Ippolito, Founder of UpRising Yoga, and I standing in front of the community garden.

A beautiful bed of lettuce planted by the community members.

A yoga instructor opened the teacher training with a 15-minute meditation, and through this meditation, I visualized the image of a brown box with a travel tag. This is the “gift” she told us to see. It’s the gift that we possess as well as give back to people. As a journalist, I envision giving the gift of story-telling and news.

Back to this morning and my unanticipated meltdown, my mother helped remind me to build a shield around my heart. She said to me that as a journalist, I need to create some distance between myself and the stories I cover, especially since I’m emotionally invested in issues of gender. My mother made a point that journalists who take on serious projects like these can potentially end up with PTSD from their job. I’m seeking to build an emotional and subconscious armor, some protection against my repressed memories, my most secret thoughts, my dreams.

I don’t believe this guard can be manufactured in a day, in a month or in a year. Maybe I call it my Joan of Arc armor. Whenever I pick up a pen or sit at my laptop with emotional and mental investment, I put on this armor. And if I need to strip off the armor in order to go there — go to that place of truly connecting with another person through journalism, fighting my own demons — I choose to have that option.

It’s risky opening up myself completely and I might not be as functional for awhile afterwards. But I care. I’m human. I am a person who also has a story. Being a journalist doesn’t make me a hero or someone with more authority or power. It doesn’t make me better than anybody else. I am who I choose to be. I am what I give back. Above all, I choose to fight being a victim of my own mind.