In the meantime though, it is my delight and honor to host my dear friend, Dr. Alison Cook, as she celebrates the release of her brand new book, The Secure Soul: Finding Inner Strength and Connection When Trust Doesn’t Come Easy.1

Dr. Cook, (or Alison, as I’ll call her now ;) is not only someone that I admire and respect professionally, but she has become a trusted real-life friend. Through this last several years, I’ve especially appreciated our kindship as we traverse the rewarding, interesting (and sometimes very complicated) world of being a public facing therapist, author, and speaker.

Alison asked if I would be willing to endorse her newest offering, and it was a great privilege to do so, here’s what I said:

Written in the impactful tradition of books like Hinds Feet On High Places, Dr. Alison Cook offers us a stunning parable about the sacred work of being human--and the God who meets us in the repair. ‘The Secure Soul’ is wildly timely and timeless; a tender, thoughtful, and moving read. This is a fabulous book for anyone engaging the holistic healing God invites us toward.’

—Aundi Kolber, MA, LPC

I truly believe The Secure Soul will be a balm to anyone who’s struggled to find safety & repair not only with God, not only with others, but with themselves too. Without further ado, here’s an excerpt from her book:

(As always, please take what you need)

The Pain of Not Being Chosen

adapted from The Secure Soul by Dr. Alison Cook

I’m at a massive women’s conference, held at the largest church this Wyoming-raised, New England–shaped soul has ever stepped foot in. I’ve been invited to present a workshop, and I can’t quite believe it. I’ve been planning my talk for months, along with my outfit.

I arrive at the large group gathering on the first night. I’m a cocktail of excitement and preparation, tinged with social anxiety. It’s a familiar tension, yet somehow it still surprises me. It’s that moment at every large group gathering or retreat where it feels like everyone else has already found their people while I’m standing there by myself, name tag clinging to my shirt, plastic cup in hand, scanning the room for an anchor.

No one is mean. That’s not the issue. This is a women’s conference—in the South. Everyone is polite, well-mannered. Some smile; a few even say hello. But still, I’m on the outside. The other speakers seem to greet each other like old friends. They share jokes, easy hugs, and whispered updates between sessions. I hover at the edge of conversations I’m not part of, unsure where to step in. I’m trying to smile, even as something inside me begins to fade, quietly slipping beneath the surface.

As a large band begins to take the stage, I decide to find a seat. Trying to be inconspicuous, I slip into an aisle seat near the back, close to the door and out of everyone’s way. But just as I begin to settle in, an usher gently taps my shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says, “these seats are reserved for VIPs.”

I’m mortified as I realize why the row was empty. The seats are roped off.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, flustered. I don’t want to walk all the way to the front—where the only open seats are— alone. Suddenly, my heels make me feel like I am a giraffe on stilts, and my bag feels enormous. I hate the feeling of being conspicuous. Of being seen in the wrong way.

So instead, I forego a seat altogether and decide to hover just outside the auditorium, near the entryway in the dark hall, pressing myself against the cold concrete wall, trying desperately to disappear.

My mind flashes back to college, those first days on my New England campus, thousands of miles from the small Wyoming town where I was born and raised. I arrived proudly sporting a brown plaid vest from Maurices, our local clothing store, and a freshly permed head of hair, bangs ratted up sky high. I had timed the perm perfectly for move-in day, blissfully unaware that no one in New England was getting perms . . . or wearing brown plaid vests. This was well before the internet stepped in to globalize local fashion trends.

I was on a freshman trip, a weekend of camping and hiking that was part of orientation before school began. Most of the large, chatty group came from Connecticut prep schools. I was the only student from one of those large rectangular flyover states out in the middle of nowhere.

I tried to blend in, edging into a nearby cluster of students, hoping no one would notice how out of place I felt. Until one guy turned and said, “Hey, watch it! You’re on my sleeping bag!”

I apologized and quickly scampered away, humiliated that my attempt to include myself had been noticed—and rejected.

I don’t belong here.

And now, decades later, at the women’s conference, that same feeling washes over me. A completely different world, but the feeling is exactly the same:

I don’t belong here.

It would take me years to connect the dots, but it was in moments like these, repeated over time, that this part of me, the one that doesn’t like God very much, first took root: in the dark shadows where I convinced myself that the rejection I experienced was my fault. That if I had been different—less sensitive, less intense, less me—I might have been chosen. I might have belonged with the in-group.

One of the most painful forms of disconnection is the pain of not being chosen. It’s a specific kind of wound, one that reawakens older pain from childhood, from early friend groups, and even from how we’ve imagined God. You may have moved on from a painful season of not being chosen; but no matter how young or how old you were when it happened, your inner world doesn’t always get the memo.

In my own life, no matter how many friendships I’ve built or how deeply I experience the love of my spouse or family, the moments of not being picked, of standing on the outside looking in, still linger. Like an old bruise on the psyche: mostly healed but tender when touched.

Maybe it’s because I’m sensitive and wired to feel things deeply. Or maybe it’s simply because I’m human. Because I’m pretty sure that this ache is universal.

We long to belong.

To be received.

To be met with love, recognition, and welcome.

To not only hear, but feel deep in our bones: You’re welcome here. Make yourself at home! You belong with us.

Not lip service. Just a sense of authentic, deep connectedness.

Think about the last time you put yourself out there. Maybe you invited a friend to something that mattered to you, left a voice memo that felt a little too honest, or hit “send” on a social media post that carried more truth than you usually share.

How many times did you check to see if there was a response?

What stirred in your chest as you waited?

What inner cringe did you feel?

Will I be received? Or will I be ignored?

Will I be welcomed in? Or will I be rejected?

You can tell yourself it’s no big deal—that no one will notice your awkwardness, that you’ll make a new friend, that it doesn’t matter. But your soul doesn’t quite believe you. Beneath every instance of rejection—every unanswered message, every dismissive glance, every invitation withheld or crowded room where everyone seems to belong but you—there’s a deeper story.

A story your body remembers.

A story your heart still holds.

A story with ancient roots.

Because these moments aren’t just about now. They touch on old attachment wounds. They’re about what’s being reactivated in your nervous system, old imprints of disconnection from your earliest years, still tender beneath the surface.

These wounds don’t only live in the past. They live in your body, shaping what you expect and how you interpret what’s happening in the present. In vulnerable moments, they whisper an old message: You don’t belong here.

We are wired for connectedness—emotionally, neurologically, spiritually. To feel cherished by our families, embraced by our communities, and loved by God. This is our design.

It was clear that the overwhelming ache was coming from a specific place inside. It was coming from a part of me who needed to tell her story. A part of my soul who was still young, tender, and spiritually hungry. A part of me who had been carrying questions alone for years. Questions about belonging, about what it means to feel chosen, about whether God was big enough to hold even her. I hadn’t known how to see her, let alone how to tend to the ache she carried deep inside.

But when I finally paused to recognize this inner rupture, something shifted. I realized it wasn’t primarily the present circumstance that needed addressing.

It was a young place within me carrying a plea from the deepest part of my soul:

Please don’t overlook me again.

Inner Bids For Connection

One of my favorite insights from relationship experts John and Julie Gottman2 is the idea of bids for connection. These bids are the small, everyday invitations we offer to the people we love:

“Look at that beautiful robin out in the yard!” “It’s been a long day.”

“Do you want to sit with me for a minute?” “Hello.”

These bids may seem insignificant, but they are everything when it comes to forging a close, attached relationship. When someone responds with presence—“I see it too,” or, “Tell me more”—a thread of connection is strengthened.

But when those bids are missed, or ignored, disconnection grows.

What I want you to understand, dear reader, is that this principle is true not just in marriages or in relationships, but inside you too.

Because here’s the thing: You don’t only offer bids outwardly, to other people. They’re also coming from inside you.

Parts of your own inner world are constantly reaching toward you, offering tiny, unspoken bids for connection.

A flash of anxiety.

A pang of loneliness.

A sudden pull to withdraw, or fold in on yourself. These aren’t just moods or random emotions. They are places within, asking to be seen. They’re parts of your own soul bidding for connection, just like a partner might when they reach for your hand or point out a bird on the windowsill.

Just this morning, for example, I found myself checking my phone incessantly. I couldn’t figure out why. Suddenly, I realized:

I’m disconnected.

I need to know I’m not alone.

Some part of me is searching for the grounding of connection.

And while a phone is never going to fill that void, the desire for connection beneath that action was real.

How many times throughout your day do you reach for something, or someone, in an effort to feel connected? Your phone, a snack, a task. A friend or partner. The impulse itself isn’t the problem; it’s a clue. Your soul needs something in that moment, even though you’re not always consciously aware of what it is.

Which brings us back to the simple brilliance of the Gottmans’ work.

A relationship grows strong when two people learn to recognize even the smallest signals and say, “I’m here,” or, “Yes, I see it too.”

Your inner world works in the exact same way.

Every hidden ache, every surge of worry, every tug toward distraction is a part of you whispering:

“Do you see me?”

“Will you meet me here?”

When you notice these bids with kindness, with even a moment of awareness, something inside you softens. The distance narrows. A thread is rewoven.

You begin to meet yourself with the same care and presence you might offer someone you love. And in that tender moment, something sacred stirs. A space opens up for Love to enter in.

Get Your Copy of The Secure Soul

The Secure Soul Companion Book

Dr. Alison Cook is a therapist and host of the top-ranked The Best of You podcast. Her books, including Boundaries for Your Soul and The Best of You, have sold over 150,000 copies nationwide and been translated into 10 languages. Her newest book, The Secure Soul, releases August 18. Recognized for blending faith and psychology in a way that’s both deeply practical and spiritually alive, Dr. Alison shows you how to move from feeling unseen and disconnected to feeling secure, loved, and fully yourself. Alison is certified (L2) in Internal Family Systems therapy. She and her husband, Joe, are the parents of two adult children and call the mountains of Wyoming home.

Need more resources & insight? Check out (Aundi’s) best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 170,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

Upcoming Events:

If you’re in the St. Louis area I’d love to see you at the Abundant Conference on 8/28-8/29. Check out info and tickets here.

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

Finally, I mean it when I say, please take what you need from what we’ve shared, especially because I know that many of my readers have their own complicated journey with faith. If you’re new here, you can click here to read about how I approach this space. Much love to each of you. Now over to Meredith:

Welcome to the world of your kid’s faith questions.

Now it’s your turn, so do you:

A. Freeze up — “Uhhhhhhh…”

B. Attempt distraction — “Oh look, a bird!”

C. Parrot an answer you’re not even sure you believe. — “Because God said so.”

D. Pass the buck — “You should totally ask that at church next time.”

Faced with the challenge of a real, curious child in front of you asking about a complicated topic, each of these possible responses makes sense.

But what if there was a secret option E?

E for excitement. Your kid has brought up faith and that means you get to talk about it together. E for exploration because there are lots of different ways talk about this question. (Because ‘blood as payment’ is debatable, after all.)

And not, by the way, E for expert, as if a person can only look forward to these kinds of conversations once they’ve mastered enough biblical and theological information.

No, it’s more like E for equipped, knowing how to have great conversations with the kids in your life about God and the Bible even without all the answers.

Secret option E is available for you and for me. I’m sure of it, and I wrote Wonder to help you be sure of it, too.

After 25 years in ministry with kids, and parenting two sharp kids who never let a detail slide, I know the Bible can be a doozy of a book. It’s full of little details we read and think “Why is that there?” and “Do I need to remember that?” and, for our purposes, “Would this be helpful in conversations about God and the Bible with my kid?” (Or, perhaps more honestly, “I hope to goodness my kid never asks me about that.”)

One reason I wrote this book for you is to help you know why a detail is there and how it might be helpful as you talk with kids about the Bible. But even more importantly, I wrote it to help your conversations with kids about the Bible to become just that—conversations. Not lessons or lectures.

I want to help kids fall in love with Scripture and the God whose story it tells. And you’re here, I imagine, because you do, too.

These two questions speak to the heart of that desire:

1. How can we help kids come to know the Bible on its terms—ancient, stylistic, containing multiple genres and writers’ points of view; and

2. how can we help kids come to the Bible as kids?

Kids ask questions. So many questions.

So we, as adults, welcome their wonderings.

For many years my kids and I made a Bible story podcast for kids. Every episode began with us saying, “The Bible is amazing because it helps us get to know who God is. It’s also confusing, old, from a very different community and culture than our own. So we want you to know, when it comes to God; when it comes to the Bible—”

“Every question is okay!”

“And you can ask away!” Then there’s twinkle music.

This book will help with modeling for kids that every question really is okay, and that you, the grown-up, aren’t a Bible expert, and that’s okay too. You can ask together, learn together, wonder together. Sometimes you might find an answer, and sometimes you won’t, which is also just fine.

Because what if kids fall in love with the Bible not because it contains every answer but because it’s fun to explore questions—wherever they lead?

Not because they can figure the Bible out but because they learn how to get to know God bit by bit as they hear its stories?

No matter how old we are, if we’re reading the Bible well, one thing it should do for us is activate our curiosity. Why did a person say what they did?

Or go where they went? Or act in that way? Sadly, too often we hold back on our curiosity, biting our tongue about what we wonder. Sometimes that happens because we feel like a Bible dummy. Or perhaps we tamp down our curiosity because the real task of Bible reading is serious study.

When I first started regularly talking with kids about the Bible—at the “extremely ready for that” age of sixteen—the general assumption was that the goals of those conversations were:

• To pass on information, aka biblical literacy in the narrowest sense. What book, chapter, and verse did this come from? What were the exact details of a story? Have you memorized the verse word for word? (And if so, here’s a prize!) This often meant the stories were overloaded with factoids or skipped altogether in favor of verses that could be pulled out and taught in isolation.

• Application, aka behavior modification, but for Jesus. What should a child do, specifically, because of what the Bible says? This often meant the stories were told as if the humans were the most important characters because they offered examples for us to learn from.

But over time, as I talked about the Bible with more kids in more ways—as a teacher and small group leader, a camp counselor and parent—and after completing seminary, my thinking shifted about these goals.

When it comes to faith overall, I regularly advocate for the goal of being with our kids as they get to know God, so they can discover God can be trusted. We offer the kids in our lives presence. We can be a companion in their spiritual journeys, and we can offer processes, space, time, and experiences that help them get to know God and evaluate the claim that the Bible and our faith make: Our God is trustworthy.

What Kids Really Need

Ultimately, kids do not primarily need Bible information, where they memorize minutiae from the stories.

They do not need Bible application, where they are told by an adult what to do because of the stories.

They need exploration.

They need conversation.

They need the chance to bring their curiosity and critical thinking to the

Bible and its stories.

They need to be invited to wonder.

A Little More About Wonder:

What is the Wonder book?

Wonder is kind of like if a kid’s Bible and a study Bible had a baby. All of the stories are written how you might tell them to an 8-10 year old in a way that is helpful for them to understand. All of the notes, however, are written to a grown-up who knows that the real Bible is more complicated, and wants to have both personal insights that make them more confident in conversation and also potential responses to the really good questions their kids have.

It’s a collection of 52 Bible stories in all:

• 10 from the Pentateuch, the first 5 books of the Bible

• 10 from Joshua on, all about Life in the Land

• 5 for Christmas

• 10 from Jesus’ life

• 7 more for Easter

• 10 from Acts to Revelation, all about how the church carried on

It’s meant to be used more than read, meaning that you’ll turn to it again and again, to tell stories just for enjoyment, certainly, but also for help to understand a story or theme better, or to answer a kids’ question. You may not sit down and read it all cover-to-cover; instead you’ll have it handy and keep coming back to it.

Order Wonder on Amazon!

Order Wonder on Bookshop.org!

Order Wonder at Barnes & Noble!

A Few Other Thoughts & Happenings:

Sometimes as an author I have the privilege of endorsing other authors, and such was the case with these two talented friends:

First, a huge congrats to author & poet and his new book, "Getting Through What You’re Going Through”.

Below is my endorsement for his beautiful offering, and you can find it here:

Tanner's Book

Second (and this is a bit late), the lovely & wise released her second book, Nervous Systems: Spiritual Practices to Calm Anxiety in Your Body, the Church, and Politics this last November. This is such a timely, important, and moving read. Below is my endorsement and you can order it here:

Nervous Systems

Finally :

(And thanks for making it with me this far!)

If you are in the Grand Rapids, MI area, I’d love to see you on Tuesday, March 24th at 6pm as I speak at Cornerstone University all about compassionate strategies for resilience. I’d love to see you there! The event is free, but we’d love if you can sign up at the button directly below:

Sign Up Here

Need more resources & insight? Check (Aundi’s) best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 170,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

Welcome back to Take What You Need. I’m so glad you’re here. As always, I invite you to engage in the ways that are helpful & leave the rest.

In these times, it can feel laughable to talk about “safety.” I get it. There is valid brutality, violence, and abuse of power happening & it is excruciating. And yet, creating safety isn’t about spiritual bypassing or toxic positivity but instead working together to build it; inside us, outside us, and in between us.* In this video I share a few thoughts on why I think this matters so deeply as we move forward.

*Thanks to Deb Dana for her work on this.

(I originally published this video on Instagram and it seemed to deeply resonate. It’s such an important time and this topic is so close to my heart, that I decided to share it here, too. If you’re new to Substack videos and need closed captioning, it should already be embedded in your video—you just have to toggle the screen to the “on position” in the bottom right hand corner.)

Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 170,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

Well, the final stretch before Christmas is upon us. And though there can be beauty & magic in this time; I also know that for many, this season is mired in complicated feelings, overwhelm, and grief.

If that’s you today, you’re not alone. In my nearly twenty years as a therapist I have found one thing to be consistently true: the holidays are complicated.

What I might offer you, is a gentle reminder that we frequently have more choice available to us then we realize. So often we are living from a script or template we were given, but is no longer authentic to who we are or where we are. And yet, this is the disorienting nature of pain. It can cause us to lose our sense of Self by becoming over identified with our wounds; making us feel as though trauma is our name; as though what’s happened to us, or our mistakes, or betrayal, or lack, or loneliness, or fear is the truest thing about us.

And yet, we are not bound to this way of being.

We can learn to be with the pain without being lost in it.

And we do this, in part, by restoring agency that was taken. Because trauma often includes the experience of powerlessness in the face of harm, it’s vital that part of healing includes leaning into spaces, relationships, churches, communities, faith practices, and moments where we truly have choice & agency as we experience repair. All of these tiny choices and moments matter; they are building something new in us, one micro moment at a time.

It is possible for us to find a new orientation to our stories & keep our tether to Goodness, even as the world is imperfect, violent, and weary. In fact, our ability to stay connected to what keeps us most grounded may be just what allows us to keep loving this hurting world, but in the way that doesn’t require us to participate in our own harm.

If it feels like a resource, may this video help spark curiosity & compassion as you make even the smallest shifts in the direction of leaning into your agency.

Sending love for a gentle holiday,

Aundi

(I originally published this video on Instagram a few weeks ago and it seemed to deeply resonate. It’s such an important concept that I decided to share it here, too. If you’re new to Substack videos and need closed captioning, it should already be embedded in your video—you just have to toggle the screen to the “on position” in the bottom right hand corner.)

Recent Podcast Interviews:

1000 Hours Podcast

Susie Larson Radio Show

3% Podcast

Dr. Lee Warren Podcast

Thrive Podcast

Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 160,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

Today as I was considering December & all the goodness & intensity & wonder & grief of this season, I felt my throat constrict and my stomach tighten, briefly. I love advent. It has been a special part of my faith journey to know the nearness of God in the Christmas season — and to experience the truth of Emmanuel, God with us, even amidst some truly brutal times.

But, like many trauma survivors, my body sometimes taps into old stories about the holidays: narratives I have often already worked with, but perhaps aren’t finished speaking. Stories like being alone; not being enough; being overwhelmed, abandoned, betrayed & having to perform for love.

These are stories that I have, mostly, tended to, and I have seen a great amount of healing and repair around in my life.

But there’s something about the holidays, isn’t there?

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I once heard author Glennon Doyle say that the holidays are like the “Superbowl” of working through your own personal traumas & pain — because this is not where you’re given easy passes, instead you’re going to face the toughest challenges. I love her analogy because the special mix of cultural intensity, consumerism, one up-manship and more can make this next 3.5 weeks feel like something else.

So this morning, I noticed this in myself. I stopped & placed a hand on my heart. I could sense my own inner terrain needing more stability and groundedness. I returned to something simple, something I learn & relearn constantly:

We can try softer.

Perhaps that feels simple. Perhaps it is, for some.

But what I’ve come to learn is that for many folks, particularly trauma survivors, the Holidays can hold a myriad of ways we’ve learned to “leave” ourselves. Perhaps we’ve done it by over-functioning, living in a hyper-aroused cocktail of saying ‘yes’ when our body says ‘no,’ or by trying to make that one difficult family member or friend happy by tying ourselves into pretzels.

Sometimes we numb with alcohol, drugs, sex, or social media. Sometimes we push harder than we thought we were capable of in order to attain the perfect tree, or present, or meal, or party, or card, or facade that feels like it will console the ache inside of us, believing this year — this Christmas, will be different.

It’s not uncommon after all this to find that, finally, our body pulls what sometimes is known as our emergency break. I imagine it like our nervous system saying, “Oh, you’re not going to slow down? Well, I guess I have to do it for you.” We start to feel disconnected, depressed and/or dissociated as we enter a forced hypo-aroused state that feels like we can’t escape. Our “mind-body” becomes heavy with the weight of all our white-knuckling; finally telling us in no uncertain terms that we can’t keep this speed anymore1.

Yet, when we don’t learn to tend to the original pain, we risk repeating the cycle ad infinitum.

If this is your story, I think it’s important to honor that often times this method of being in the world, this leaving yourself, has been part of what helped you survive difficult or maybe even traumatic events. This is valid. I always write these reminders because sometimes people actually have no choice, and to assume otherwise is to be ignorant of the realities of injustice and trauma that have happened & continue happening in the world. And even when someone does have a choice, they have often been socialized to believe their value literally depends on their performance. This is quite a narrative to push against without support2.

And.

Part of healing is learning where we have choice. I hope, as you are able, you can find the spaces, places, people, and glimmers of the Divine that remind you that you can try differently. You can try softer. You can offer compassionate attention to the parts of your mind, body, and soul that are needing your care.

And we do this, in part, because we are not here to earn our value or love. It is given.

I’ll end with Jan Richardson’s beautiful words here:

“Beloved is where we begin.”

Amen.

Much love this season,

Aundi

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Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 160,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

Today would have been my dad’s 75th birthday.

I woke up heavy and sad; but without the context of why that might be. I’ve been tangentially aware of this date the last few weeks, but today, my body remembered before my brain caught up to the story. And this is how it often goes with complex trauma. So many griefs.

For a moment or two or three, I wondered if I could outrun it. I wanted to outrun it. Honestly, I tried for a bit. But finally I felt the wisdom of the Spirit and my own true self, remind me to soften into the grief. Finally, I allowed my body, mind, and soul to turn toward the great weight of all that’s been lost and never will be. I let my grief have a seat at my table. I tended to her the best I could.

I played the music that allowed me to open the box of darkness I was given by him. 
I let myself ugly cry. 
I talked with Brendan.
I texted a dear friend. 
I told the truth about how hard this day is and can be. 
I held space for what needed to be felt. 

And then, almost as sudden as the wave came, the wave of grief began to recede. Not cleanly or quickly, but with great intention. Almost like saying, "thank you, I just needed you to see that this matters." 

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Participating in the Healing

If you’ve followed me for awhile, you may know, that my history of complex PTSD and and complex trauma largely arose from my dad’s narcissistic abuse, though I had complicating factors from several other traumatic events and relationships as well. For my entire childhood and into my adulthood he terrorized, stalked, and abused me and other family members. I can’t and won’t speak for them. But suffice it to say, it cost so very much to be raised by someone who could continually harm you and yet blame you for your own harm.

And as many of you know: 2.5 years ago, just weeks before Strong like Water was born, my dad died, after having been no contact with him for 16 years1. And though I’ve experienced much healing and had much peace over this decision and continue to, I felt a wave of lament hit me this morning in a way it hasn’t in a long time. The heaviness of the pain, the grief, the reality of who he couldn’t be but also was. The realization that sometimes you really did have to be that strong.

Yet, I am heartened to see that I have learned to honor when my body asks for attention and care; that too, is healing. And some days are simply those kinds of days. Today I’m being profoundly kind to myself and I’m remembering that though my father could never give me the repair I so deeply needed and deserved—I can choose to participate in the ongoing repair of the millions of ruptures that were done to me. I can heal anyway. And so I grieve, but I also tend. I also nourish. I also honor. Because I really do believe — and have experienced — this is how we find the way through.

May it be so. -AK

Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 160,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

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As I write, I feel the intensity of the world pulsating around us. So much is occurring in both the United States and in our world, let alone relationally and individually. I actually started this post a few weeks ago, and even still, the beginning sentences remain unchanged. It’s a lot. (I probably don’t need to tell you that, but sometimes validation can feel quite helpful). There truly is a tremendous amount of valid anger, grief, and pain as we watch intensifying violence, dehumanization, discrimination, misinformation, abuse of power, and more.

But maybe you do need to hear this: What’s happening in the world is too much. It would be too much for just about anyone. And if you have a history of unresolved trauma or are a person who has experienced levels of marginalization—that often adds to the intensity and overwhelm through which you experience the world.1 What do I mean when I say that? I mean that because trauma survivors’ nervous systems are already highly sensitized to threat, the chance of becoming flooded by what’s happening in the world is significantly higher than the average person2.

You might think of it like a glass that is already 90% full of water. Even a little bit more water might cause the glass to overflow—to go beyond capacity—and so it is with the nervous system of a trauma survivor3.

The Role of Compassionate Resourcing

One of the ideas I have learned through my work as a therapist in interpersonal neurobiology, attachment theory, Polyvagal theory, EMDR, somatic work and more, is how deeply we need cues of safety, goodness, and care (what I call compassionate resourcing)—especially when we are processing difficult, overwhelming, or potentially traumatic experiences. This means having access to moments, people, spaces, experiences, faith practices, the Divine, and/or anything that communicates safety to our bodies becomes crucial as we face hard things.

Not just when we have a little extra time on our hands. Not just when we get through all of our healing. Not once we take care of everything and everyone, but in the midst of our pain. This is true for everyone, but especially trauma survivors.

Because though goodness may not take away our pain, it is pivotal in finding a way through it; mentally, physically, and spiritually. This is what I mean when I say that ‘love changes us in ways that fear and danger cannot.4’ It’s only when we have a sure tether to love, goodness, and/or safety that we can begin to actually mobilize through the hard we may face and show up in the world with the gifts, voices, advocacy, and presence that only we can.

Neurobiologically, we can only maintain living in survival mode for so long before it makes us more traumatized, depleted, discouraged, and alone. Our bodies quite literally cannot sustain the intensity required to carry it all. We cannot carry it all. If we don’t have a “counterweight” (thank you to for her great language here!)—our nervous systems will not be able to respond from a grounded, integrated place. Then, in the absence of enough resources, the hard we face is more likely to potentially become trauma because our pre-frontal cortex is offline and our nervous system is overwhelmed, fragmented, and dysregulated. It’s only when we have enough regulation, care, and support that we will be able to authentically move through what we’ve experienced.5

We are always, always invited to return to this truth: we are designed for Goodness. Not because life is easy, but because it’s hard.

This is why a few years ago I made a conscious choice to make much of my public work geared toward sharing (potential) resources I have created. My hope is that they would provide even a glimpse of safety for your own ongoing compassionate resourcing. Not because these will solve all of the pain you may carry, not because it will solve our problems in relationships, churches, or countries. But because if we don’t have access to a certain level of safety we have no choice but to live from reactivity instead of the wisdom of our truest God-given selves. And my goodness, we need each of our wisdom, aliveness, and personhood in the world today.

I’ll leave you with this quote from Strong like Water:

Every time we help our body feel safe, we are practicing hope and resurrection. Every time we turn with compassion to ourselves and others, we, as Wendell Berry says, “Practice resurrection.” Every time we feel the sun on our cheeks and the wind in our hair and the breath in our lungs; when we laugh at a joke or feel the embrace of people who love us, we are practicing the brave work of resurrection. In a world where there is much pain and destruction, seeing resurrection is no small thing.

In times like these, I pray you have all you need to honor the deep work inside and around us. May you have eyes to see the resurrection present here with us, even now.

Sending love,

Aundi

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Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 160,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

Sometimes I’ve wished for different story, but there is no gentle way to say this:

For most of my life, I was terrified of my dad.

Truth be told, I had reason to be. For decades I fantasized about what it might be like to have a dad who embodied the God I have come to know and love and give my life to. But my reality was so very different.

In truth, he was chaotic, violent, punishing, and manipulative. Before I had words for it, I learned to walk on eggshells and contort, shrink, and conform myself around a person whose first role and calling was to love me—but instead taught me that love equated to being harmed. When I think back to many younger versions of myself, I feel a bit breathless, realizing how vulnerable I was to his abuse. Even after twenty years of my own healing journey, becoming a licensed trauma therapist, and experiencing the beauty of God-with-me again and again, this reality is still stunning to sit with sometimes.

To adapt to my dad and the threat I constantly faced, I became hyperattuned not only to him but to what others wanted from me in order to keep the peace. (I had learned the alternative could be horrible.) This, in turn, meant that instead of taking what I actually needed, I took what I assumed others thought was okay for me to need.

Even simple questions like Do you need help? Do you want to stay or go? Which restaurant sounds best? would often be met first by anxiety and then the sinking feeling of deferment to what I thought I must say, instead of what I actually felt.

I often unconsciously transferred my fear of my father to almost everyone, because this was the template I had been given about having needs and a voice. Now, it’s important to state, there is nothing inherently wrong with those types of questions; they are quite understandable and fair. But you see, I learned to bypass my body, mind, and spirit very early as a strategy to survive.

Even when the panic around displeasing someone dissipated, the shame I carried around having needs was profound.

This panic kept me from voicing the truth of my experience and sometimes kept me from the important conversations that are bound to happen in interpersonal dynamics where we learn to give and take. It is incredibly common for trauma survivors to internalize the belief that they don’t have a choice or voice in their own experience, the aftermath of actually having those bits of agency ripped away in the first place.

This is often the cost of unresolved trauma: that even after the event ends, our body still carries the imprint of the pain like a thousand splinters never removed. Yet, I have found it’s possible to reclaim connection to our God-given body and needs; in fact it’s foundational.

I have come to believe it’s more than okay to access and receive what I need, in order that I may participate with God in tending the wounds underneath. In a way, this is part of the repair necessary for all the younger ages of me who never felt safe enough to do just that.

Why do I share this with you?

(I’d be so honored to have you click here and it will take you over to Ann Voskamp’s blog to keep reading)—and thanks, as always, for being here.

Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 160,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

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first, lean in tenderly to the ache,

lay out pillows for her to land.

give her comfort, but give her space when she asks.

cease telling her who to become & how to be & what box to fit into.

let her find the heartbeat of her healing again.

she does not want your pity,

but instead,

your witness.

honor what she's carried by understanding why she exists.

remember what it cost her to carry it.

and when she has regained her breath again,

when she is no longer heaving from being exploited, and slandered, and shamed, and criticized:

ask her what she's hungry for. how she wants to move. what she longs for.

who she is underneath all that armor.

//

when she is ready, remind her of the mountains she already crossed.

remind her of the softness in her heart,

the Belovedness at her core,

and the fire in her belly.

remind her of what she already knows:

how to heal, anyway.

Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 160,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

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In honor of the many who have lost their lives in the recent Texas floods, and in honor of the sheer magnitude of intensity happening in our world—I wanted to take a moment to remember that our grief + the tears we cry are sacred. Valuable. Important. Vital; a reminder that Jesus wept in the face of tragedy1 (even as he knew that the healing would still come).

For many folks, but particularly trauma survivors, we have internalized the belief that grief is bad, shameful, or weak. Maybe it wasn’t safe to be vulnerable. Maybe no one cared if you were in despair. Maybe you were harmed if you spoke up. And perhaps you were even taught that it makes someone sinful to feel sad or grieve.2 This may be why I adore when Henri Nouwen says, “I am beginning to see that much of praying is grieving3.”

Indeed. Doesn’t that just feel like an exhale?

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Nouwen’s quote points to the fact that God designed our bodies to move through and metabolize pain (at the pace we are able)—and grieving is a necessary piece of this work. Grief work is so often part of prayer because from an attachment perspective, a God that we experience as safe and compassionate can help us feel what we can’t feel on our own.4

Like a good parent who holds their overwhelmed child when the world feels too big and too much, we, too, have access to the God who is the great Co-Regulator of our bodies, minds, and spirits. Because we have a God who moves close to the brokenhearted, the downtrodden, the marginalized and bereft—we can let ourselves soften and move through the pain. For however long that takes.

In a world that is experiencing no shortage of overwhelm, pain, + trauma—grief is a valid response.

And, I pray that grief would allow you, and us, to keep our hearts tender + open.

May our grief mobilize us + create pathways to healing + reimagining how we honor our neighbors + ourselves.

May it remind us of what matters deeply to our Creator + to us. May grief help us both soften + strengthen as we find the way forward.

If it feels like a resource to you, I’ll leave you with a breath prayer:

Inhale: I am allowed to feel.

Exhale: God holds me as I do.

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Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 160,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.

Though I’ve grown a vibrant community on Instagram, I’ve also experienced the template behind it as chaotic and at times working in opposition to the healing and integration that I’m aiming to resource people toward.

I could write a whole essay about just that, but even a few examples include the way SM companies often leverage our need for connection to keep us scrolling and addicted to garner another dopamine hit, and where we are actually the product being served up for consumption1. In general though, most SM tends to increase our anxiety, depression, dysregulation, disconnection, and binary thinking.

Plus, there are legions of others issues that have come up—such as the fact that Meta has reportedly pirated thousands of books in order to train their AI, including three of my own2. All that to say, I’m not leaving Meta/Instagram, but it can be a complicated space that I think warrants caution.

I’ve thought about Substack for a longtime now (and this is not me saying it’s a perfect place), but I’ve wondered if perhaps this would be a venue I could step into a bit more. The truth is, like most things—this will be an experiment. I don’t have a fool proof plan on how I’ll proceed, but like many things in my writing career and life, sometimes I just have to begin.

Let’s Start Here

So, I suppose I’ll start here: I’m going to name my little digital space Take What You Need. If that sounds familiar, that would make sense—as I just recently released a contemplative coffee table book of the same name back in February (!) I originally started using the phrase “take what you need” back in 2020 alongside my mental health and faith posts as an attempt to translate a trauma informed lens to the way folks were interacting with my work on social media.

As someone who aims to work from a trauma informed and faith sensitive lens, it’s especially important to empower people to know that while I may offer a resource, I believe deeply that God designed each of our bodies with wisdom and the ability to discern. That means if something I write or share isn’t for you (including but not limited to around experiences of faith), I bless you as you choose to pass on it; that’s wisdom in action.

Just because someone, even someone we respect, shares a thought—it does not automatically mean it’s A) for us B) a good idea C) the right time for that idea.

Social media can produce a ton of opportunities for digital connection, but the reality is that it also flattens our humanity. There is no way to completely transfer the attunement needed in a personal interaction, such as in therapy, to a technological interaction.

So in the absence of actual presence, it becomes even more essential to offer the resources I have with open hands and a sincere invitation to engage the content to the extent that it feels helpful (if at all). I believe this kind of posture is a type of hospitality that we see from the Christian tradition and the God who is constantly setting tables for us—even as our heads are anointed in the presence of our enemies; even in the wilderness3.

Not only that, this open handed, empowering posture is essential for healing from trauma because it’s helps our body re-connect with our own God-given internal navigation system,4 it also healthfully allows us to differentiate from others around us. Particularly for those who are vulnerable to or are healing from abusive, controlling, and/or narcissistic systems—the wholehearted encouragement to honor the information of our bodies is quite subversive5.

I believe this posture can be both preventative and reparative around relational harm, coercive control, narcissistic abuse, betrayal trauma, psychological abuse, spiritual abuse/harm and more. The more we normalize supporting agency in places where it has been weaponized or stolen, the easier it will be to advocate when something is being used in a harmful way.

Plus, and I’m only saying this half jokingly, I’m not the Holy Spirit. This may seem obvious, but I have no interest in replacing the Divine in someone’s life. That is not my role. Instead, it’s my job to have the humility to honor both my limits and my gifts. When I recognize that my work is not for everyone, it allows me to live from this grounded perspective.

Which brings me back to why I’m naming this space Take What You Need. Dear readers, I hope you feel empowered to listen to your body, that you can honor the wisdom embedded inside you, and that it allows you to participate with the Spirit of God as you engage what’s supportive for you6.

At times I will be sharing resources, meditations, prayers, and personal narrative. And in that process I will bring both my expertise as a clinician of almost twenty years, but also my lived experience of healing from complex PTSD, spiritual abuse, and more. If for any reason it’s not your jam to hear some of the messiness of a therapist’s life7, it’s okay to opt out at any time. I plan to honor my own humanity in this space, in the same spirit that I hope to honor yours (and hope you’ll do what you can to honor your humanity, too). But, it is profoundly important to know that you can engage with what I offer to the extent that it feels helpful and please, go ahead and leave the rest.

I encourage you to do that.

I bless you in doing that.

I believe this is part of what it means to healthfully move toward a mature personhood. Knowing what’s ours and setting down what’s not.

A Few Housekeeping Items

Finally, If you’re receiving this via email, it means you’re already on my subscriber list. First, I’m so glad you’re here. But, if for any reason you’d like to unsubscribe you can do that at any time. If you’ve subscribed and you’re not receiving this in your inbox, you may need to check your spam folder.

Otherwise, I look forward to the journey ahead.

With deep hope,

Aundi

Need more resources & insight? Check out my best selling books:

Try Softer (Over 150,000 sold)

Try Softer Guided Journey

Strong like Water

Strong like Water Guided Journey

Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days

*A gentle reminder that this space is not meant to substitute medical or psychiatric individualized advice. If you are having a mental health emergency, please call or text 988 or go to your local emergency room.