More than ever, I was aware of how much people were suffering all around me.  And not just first responders, but people from all walks of life!

As I could no longer teach face-to-face, I started creating structured programs that I could deliver virtually.  It felt good to be helping people again.

I was completely unprepared for what happened next.

I had (what I later learned) was a major and prolonged panic attack/episode at work.  Seemingly out of nowhere, it felt as though some important part of me broke, shattering. 

In that one moment, my entire way of being in this world crumbled.  It was as if I had been forcefully ripped out of my life of relative safety and comfort and hurled into one of confusion, panic, and fear.  

I will save you many of the details of what happened during the weeks, months and years that followed, but suffice to say, for a long time my condition was severe enough that I was nearly constantly in the grips of anxiety, panic, depression and dysregulation.  I swung wildly between states of hyper and hypo-arousal.

Turns out I was suffering from complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), the result of repeated exposure to traumatic events over time.  The official diagnosis came as a shock to me.  I actually argued that I couldn’t have PTSD.  I mean, I was the “mindfulness guy”, wasn’t I?  

Then, disturbingly, my own MM practice stopped working.  I felt somehow it had betrayed me, abandoning me when I needed it the most.  Not only that, but my own chronic pain worsened.  

I wondered if all the years studying, practicing and teaching MM had been for nothing.  I wondered if I had misled everyone, including myself. 

Looking back (hindsight being what it is), it now seems obvious.  The reason my usual MM practices had “stopped” working had nothing to do with the practices themselves.  It was I who had changed.  I was simply not the same person I had been.  My brain had changed, was now neurodiverse.  Was it really any surprise that my MM practice needed to change too? 

I immersed myself in a deep study and exploration of trauma-informed and trauma-sensitive (TI/TS) MM practices. I researched my condition, reading books and taking programs for people living with PTSD and complex trauma.

I became certified to teach in MM-based chronic pain and somatic body-based programs.

I eventually came to the realization that many of the widely available (and popular) MM offerings out there were missing important elements for those living with chronic stress, chronic pain, and complex trauma.  

(I want to be clear; there’s nothing inherently wrong with these popular practices.  On many levels they have stood the test of time, and they work for lots of people.)

Once I identified the missing elements and integrated them into my own MM practice, things started to change.  

My practice started working again on a deeper and more profound level.  My chronic pain was not negatively impacting my life nearly as much.  Therapy became more effective, my self-awareness increased dramatically, my sleep improved, I developed more self-compassion, I was less angry and more present in my life.  I was a better parent, partner and friend.  I was laughing again. 

I was reconnecting to my life, my body and my happiness.  

Spoiler alert, this doesn’t (and didn’t), happen overnight.  And it wasn’t always easy. I still engage in therapy, and I still struggle at times.  MM is not a “magic pill” for instant healing and self-actualization.  You still need to put in the time, effort and practice to reap the many rewards.  Sure, there are many short-term and immediate benefits, but you also build capacity and resilience over time.