 Pamela Mueggenberg LIMHP, MA Art Therapy Counseling
“Pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source. True humility is the only antidote to shame.” - Uncle Iroh, from Avatar: The Last Airbender One of the most charming and frustrating characteristics of every single human being alive is we all believe, unwaveringly, that we are just a little different than everybody else. While we can enjoy community and feel seen and held by those close to us, there is a certain little gremlin in our minds whispering, “you’re not quite normal.” We have the option, when faced with this apparent uniqueness, to be proud of ourselves. No one could ever feel as deeply as we have, or have a love as consuming as ours, or have that really clever thought just like we did. We are so good at being human we transcend humanity. We also have the option to view our uniqueness with shame. We are inherently flawed, no one is as broken as we are, if anyone knew all the thoughts we’ve had they would run away screaming. We are so bad at being human we have elected to excommunicate ourselves from the group lest anyone find out. A third, much more uncomfortable option, is to allow for the possibility that maybe you aren’t that special. You are one of an innumerable tiny babes born to parents born to parents stretching back to Mitochondrial Eve. You are a glowing thread in a brilliant tapestry, one whose light is not dimmed by its neighbors but is no more beautiful than any other thread. You are undeniably, wholly human - no contingencies, exceptions, or apologies included. What makes this fact so slippery I’m willing to bet, is that right now some of you reading this are thinking something along the lines of “oh that’s so true! Not for me obviously, but I should really share this with my friend/daughter/neighbor!” No, sweetie. I’m talking to you. You. You can take a break to breathe and the world will not end. You can speak gently to yourself, like a parent to their child who just skinned their knee. You can figure out, with intention and love, what you actually need in your life or in this moment, and then, if you’re brave enough, ask for help. You are allowed to do these things because you are just as worthy, just as incredible, as everyone else.
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 By Louisa Foster, PsyD, RDT/BCT
Several weeks ago, for the first time, I found myself in conflict with the advice that a patient had received from another source - ChatGPT. This situation was not covered in graduate school or in any of my post graduate training. Yet, after checking with colleagues, I learned that it is becoming more common in the treatment room. It should come as a surprise to no one that the field of psychology and artificial intelligence are not strangers. After all, the human brain provided the blueprint for neural networks as well as the basis for the core functions of memory, reasoning, and problem solving. Artificial Intelligence, in its more primitive form, has already been with us for some time. We’ve been consuming it for years every time we use our smart phones, our navigation apps, and are subjected to those pernicious social media and streaming algorhythms. Yet, it feels that we’ve entered an era of science fiction when we discuss the role of AI in mental health treatment. We’ve all heard the horror stories of chatbots encouraging self-harm or violence toward others, exposing children to hypersexual content, or offering damaging advice devoid of human attunement or intuition. Yet, AI is here and it is not going away no matter how much we might wish it so. Perhaps it will help to look at the good that AI might do. More powerful data analysis has led to earlier detection of mental health issues, a better understanding of prevalence trends, and helped generate prevention scenarios. Mental health providers are already using AI to track session notes and symptom progression and to develop treatment plans. One in three Americans currently lives in a provider desert because rural access continues to pose a challenge. There is a potential role for AI in addressing this issue. For patients, the appeal is evident: no long waits for providers, 24/7 access to “support”, no paperwork or insurance complications and, of course, anonymity. And here is where I’d like to make my case for the “human” therapist. Large Language Models (LLMs) are trained to engage in “conversational banter” that mimics human speech. Yet, this is not a human relationship and, for some with a tenuous connection with reality, this is likely to result in harmful confusion at best. Furthermore, a program that responds with compassionate speech is not actually practicing compassion. The goal of therapy is not to make patients feel good, or smart, or right. Therapists are not there to be sycophantic, stroke their patient’s egos, or data mine their personal information. Therapists are there to help them navigate their way through the complex, existential issues of being human. We are helping them learn to self-soothe by co-regulating with them and helping them to gently face their fears and their shame. For that, anonymity is not an option because it is the very act of sharing the most frightening elements of being human and having them compassionately witnessed and held that is the mechanism for healing. As social animals, our deep wounds most often occur relationally, and they must be healed relationally. It is the courage to face those wounds in the authentic presence of another human that allows us to rebuild trust in both ourselves and in others. There is a place for AI in mental health treatment, and it could be inspiring and efficacious, but it must be as an addendum to human interaction, not a replacement.  By Daniel G. Weidner, MS/LMHP
It seems that the United States has been at war almost continuously since the end of World War II. As a result we now hear the term “endless war”. It seems as if we are trapped. The current polling indicates that the American people are sick of war and want their government to focus more on the mounting domestic issues here at home. There is a line in the John Lennon song IMAGINE that states: “Imagine all the people living life in peace”. I think that he was on to a very important concept in terms of peace and war. All human endeavors begin in the human imagination: poems, songs, inventions, recipes, weapons, tools, art, medicine, war- everything. It all begins in the human imagination. We seem very capable and skilled at imagining war and inventing new ways to kill each other. We use our amazing human minds to do this out of a sense of fear. We devote massive amounts of our human and material resources toward making war. Then we seem to wonder why we are stuck in endless wars. I suggest here that we will not get out of this cycle of endless wars until we begin to imagine peace. Until we use our wonderful human imagination for inventing new ways to live in peace. Until we devote at least the same amount of time and resources toward attaining peace (living in peace) as we do in preparing for, and engaging in, war. A.J. Muste was a mid-twentieth century leader of the Peace Movement in America. He said “There is no way to peace, peace is the way”. Thich Nhat Hanh (TNH) famously stated (in his book of the same name) that “Peace is every step”. All of the wisdom teachers throughout our history have taught that peace begins with the individual and is realized by the way that the individual leads her/his life. TNH tells us that hope, while important, can be an obstacle to peace. We cling to the hope that something better will happen in the future. That perhaps we will find some place after we die where peace will be… He suggests that if we refrain from hoping, then we can bring ourselves into the present moment and discover the joy and peace that are already here. Peace is every step. There is a plaque at the Center for Mindful Living that states: Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart. Peace begins with the individual. It begins with each of us imagining all of the people living life in peace. TNH states that “Enlightenment, peace, and joy will not be granted by someone else. The well is within us, and if we dig deeply in the present moment, the water will spring forth. We must go back to the present moment in order to be really alive.” Therefore, peace begins with mindful-living, and peace - is the only way out of endless wars.  By Hillary Rubesin, PhD, LIMHP, REAT
This past February, I was honored to join the Board of the International Expressive Arts Therapy Association (IEATA), the accrediting body for registered expressive arts therapists. I first connected with this organization in 2006, as a wide-eyed, open-hearted graduate student ready to learn everything I could about arts-based healing. Since that time, I have trained in and incorporated other modalities into my mental health work—somatic approaches, mindfulness, Internal Family Systems therapy, and beyond—but the expressive arts have always remained central to my practice. A client session last week reminded me why.* Our time together began with a grounding practice, meant to attune her body to the world around her. After this brief somatic meditation, I invited my client to notice if any sounds, images, messages, memories, or body sensations were coming to the forefront. She responded that there was a deep sense of movement in her body, which she wanted to externalize. The client asked me to bring over my jar of markers and a piece of paper, as her eyes remained closed. I watched as her hands blindly reached for the markers and pulled one out. She began to draw. Her hand flowed across the page, swirling, twirling, quickly, slowly, following her breath and the movement within her body. Unbeknownst to her, the marker she had chosen was white. Part of me wanted to stop her, to help her switch to a visible color. Thankfully, I was able to ask this part of me to step back and simply let the process unfold. A few minutes later, my client indicated she was ready to stop drawing and open her eyes. As she took in the page, the white on white, she spent a moment in silence. Then, she spoke: “It’s still a blank page, despite everything that was drawn on it.” This simple observation brought tears to both of us. For this client, who, like many of us, often wonders what her future will hold--and how her past and present experiences and choices will impact that future—the meaning was palpable. Despite everything that had happened before, her future was still unwritten. The white on white was a powerful reminder that meaning is not always visible, and that the process itself can reveal truths that language alone cannot access. What an honor to facilitate and witness this type of work. And, what an honor, also, to now serve the broader international community committed to the healing powers of the arts. *This story is shared with joyous permission of the client.  By Marilyn Erickson, APRN
Is the outcome of completing things magic? Or is it depleting? There is a tale told in Anthony de Mello’s book One Minute Wisdom that is as follows: Change The visiting historian was disposed to be argumentative. “Do not our efforts change the course of history?” he demanded. “Oh yes, they do,” said the Master. “And have not our labors changed the earth?” “They certainly have,” said the Master. Then why do you teach that human effort is of little consequence?” Said the Master, “Because when the wind subsides, the leaves still fall.” I actually never thought that completing things was magic. Projects, tasks, homework, books, writing, artwork - all of these things that we can so easily leave unfinished. Or put off the completion of them until a later time, when it is more convenient, when everything is aligned! Well, I can tell you, at least in my case, it is really never convenient and everything is never aligned. In Meditations for Mortals, Oliver Burkeman makes the case for completing things. But he emphasizes that it can’t be drudgery or torture. His idea is another way of looking at the story above referring to the Master’s teaching that “effort is of little consequence”. If you are a perfectionist, you enjoy starting things but it is a chore to complete them because you start to notice all the flaws in a plan or you come across a difficult part that may have more than one solution or you can’t see the solution right away. Then the completion becomes overwhelming, hard, or what you perceive as impossible. But Burkeman offers a different route to completion. He suggests that you “redefine what counts as finished.” So you can divide the entire project into what he calls “deliverables”, sequential small steps that can be accomplished in a shorter period of time. Think of the next 3 minutes as suggested by Steve Chandler. Or set aside 1-2 hours to devote to that “deliverable”. It is the “devotion” of an allotted period of time that I think is the decreased effort or effortlessness required for ultimate completion of a project or task. Because in the devotion you give your complete attention to the step you are working on and it becomes rewarding, relaxing, or even amazing. It becomes a “low key process” as described by Burkeman. And when that step is completed, you think of the next “deliverable”. Burkeman states, “Treating what you do with your time as a sequence of tiny completions means falling into line with how things really are.” So we don’t have to be overwhelmed or stuck with what seem like large, cumbersome tasks. We can find magic in the very small steps that lead us closer to completion. In the Tao Te Ching, there is this statement: “Work is done, then forgotten. Therefore, it lasts forever.” Burkeman suggests that then, “you are no longer fighting the current, but letting it carry you forward”. I believe this is the change Anthony de Mello refers to in his story of the argumentative historian. Completion of even small tasks brings about change in our lives. If we make it less effort and more joyful (in the small steps), we find that we don’t need the big wind, that the leaves will still fall when the wind subsides. The wind represents our effort and making life happen with less effort is the goal. By Pamela Mueggenberg, LIMHP  "And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low, then it started to grow. But this sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded glad! Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small, Was singing without any presents at all! He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming! It came! Somehow or other, it came just the same!” – Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas I’ve been thinking a lot about How the Grinch Stole Christmas, in particular the song right before the Grinch’s heart grew, in the original cartoon and not the well-intended but ultimately disturbing Jim Carrey effort from the 2000s. When the town has been swept clean of the trappings of Christmas and the Grinch is delighted, anticipating the town’s grief and pain when they realize their sacred tradition has been stolen from them. He is fundamentally apart from the town, his body and mind withered in his isolation. He literally lives above them, doesn’t understand them, and can’t stop thinking about them.
We know so much about the Grinch in this story. He is the “Centered Other”, the bringer of ill-will to the faceless innocents below. As an allegorical device it makes sense that the town would respond with unanimous grace, gifting the Grinch with their joy from below. The townspeople are not people, they are foils for the Grinch’s evolution and respond as such. They have no inner world, smiling and unbothered as the Grinch sits down next to them and carves their roast beast. Don’t even get me started on Cindy-Lou. In our efforts to understand the systems of power that hurt us, we can be tempted to center our attention on the face of the system: the Evil Doer, the Grinch, the Antagonist. “What was wrong with him?” “How could he do that?” “Why isn’t he dead yet?” Make no mistake, there are fruitful conversations to have about holding people and systems accountable, and we need to have them. Accountability and restorative justice is vital to community healing. My question today is, how did the Whos manage to sing? A mother woke up that morning, her home ransacked, an ice-cold realization trickling down her back that someone had broken in and been near enough to touch her children while they slept. A little boy looking for the gifts he had made for his sister and trying not to cry when he realizes it’s gone. The elder man ripped from his sleep as bitter cold wind rips under his bedsheets, his Christmas lights a naked wire dangling from the broken door frame. How did they manage to sing after all that? They sang, I believe, because that’s what they had been doing all along. This was a town that was in the habit of connecting with each other. Song, and joy, and celebration were woven into their everyday lives. They knew each other deeply and could rely on the trust they had built to hold them together even during this incredibly awful day. They sang because they needed to remind each other: I am here for you, and you are here for me. They sang, not for the Grinch, but for each other. The practice of connection is foundational to people’s well-being and is fundamentally anti-Fascist. Remembering that you are a human being with your own thoughts and feelings is a great start - but if we want to get really rebellious, you see all those other people? The ones working behind the counter, or passing you on Dodge, or waiting at the DMV with you? They are also human beings and just as deserving of respect and kindness as any other human. Sing with them.  by Laura Crosby
Everything and everyone is aging and imperfect. All that we hold dear and everyone we love. Noticing the transient beauty and imperfection of something or someone, especially those we cherish, often slows us down, gentles our gaze, and draws us into a truer, more intimate connection. In moments filled with this noticing we can experience the harmony that Pema Chödrön speaks of when she teaches, "Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don't struggle against it, we are in harmony with reality." But the harmony in our own aging? That’s harder to find. Where is the transient beauty staring back from the mirror? Where is the version of ourselves that doesn't struggle against a reality thick with the imperfections, discomforts, and uncertainties of an aging body and mind? We may appreciate the patina of age on others. Honoring it in ourselves is another matter entirely. There is no rule that we must accept aging gracefully. Be wary of anyone claiming there is only one right way. We each find our own relationship to the irreversible flow of life. For some, mindfulness and meditation are good friends on this path of aging and imperfection, especially when practiced in community. Practice groups can be uniquely supportive spaces, where our experiences and struggles are held in honesty, compassion, grace, and wisdom — our own and that of others. We practice bringing intimate attention and kindness to our whole body just as it is in each moment. This turning inward not only illuminates the physical experience, but how the mind relates to it: the thoughts, judgments, desires, and beliefs. This seeing can be freeing. The heart speaks too, sharing how it feels in each moment of aging, imperfection, and impermanence. We tend to the full range of feelings — love, gratitude, fear, grief, they are all welcomed. This tending can be mending. Above all, we know through shared mindfulness practice that “Just like me” everyone is aging and imperfect. I’m not alone. We are all of this nature and it is not personal. Coming together to bring mindfulness and equanimity to aging, we can experience harmony with the flawed and fading. In the spirit of wabi-sabi, we may be drawn to the beauty of impermanence and imperfection, including our own. Reflecting together on wisdom teachings, we gain insights from within and around us. The struggle against reality softens and so does much suffering. As Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us, "It is not impermanence that makes us suffer. What makes us suffer is wanting things to be permanent when they are not.” With gratitude to all in our mindfulness community. Your friendship, wisdom, and heart are deeply felt and a source of great comfort and equanimity.  Daniel G. Weidner, MA, LMHP
January…the start of a new calendar year. This is when some of us take stock of our lives, goals, and ambitions, and give consideration to what we want in this new year. Some persons will set a “New Year’s Resolution” for themselves. However, sometimes people set themselves up for failure (and perhaps even some guilt) when they are not able to fulfill their resolution. They can put undue pressure upon themselves that can actually become stressful and counterproductive. Reflection and the setting of aspirations are valuable and usually positive things to do. I suggest that instead of a resolution, a more productive path may be to set some small, specific, progressive, and attainable intentions. Mindfulness is called a “practice”. Mindfulness, from a cognitive-behavioral perspective, is made up of progressive skills and skill sets. First, we identify and learn the Mindfulness based skills that will be of benefit to us in our lives. Then we practice, practice, and practice them in our daily lives. Through the practice of Mindfulness, we set small and specific intentions (instead of promises) and we work at developing “habit strength” with the skills associated with fulfilling these intentions. It is like learning to play a musical instrument or developing athletic skills. We begin with some introductory skills and progress, in a cumulative manner, into more sophisticated skills. We learn that it is best to keep things simple in the beginning so that we can realize success, therefore reinforcing our efforts. Habit strength is a term that means that we have learned the skill(s) well enough that, when we get into a situation where we need it, it is readily and immediately available for us. Our focus is on habits (skills), not outcomes. We build both flexibility and some self-kindness into the process of learning and practicing Mindfulness. Through the practice of Mindfulness, we learn to focus on our thoughts, our body, and our interactions with the world and the people around us. As we progress in the practice of Mindfulness, we begin to recognize our afflictions and suffering, as well as realization of an improved awareness of the positive aspects of our life. We discover our “unskillful means” and learn to replace them with skillful means. Judgement, shame, and guilt are replaced with learning and growth. The result of this practice is an increase in peace, stability, and freedom in our lives; and in this there is nothing more precious.  By The CML Providers
Each December, as we turn our attention to the coming year, each provider at CML comes up with a word that they hope will help orient them toward growth over the coming twelve months. Here’s how we’re approaching 2026: Hillary – Polarities This past fall, I completed my Level 1 Internal Family Systems training. This was a very expensive, very time-consuming endeavor, and I am SO grateful I embarked on the journey. One of the (many) concepts that pulled me in was polarities, or competing/contrasting parts of ourselves (e.g. “the health-conscious” part vs. the “I want to eat whatever I want!” part.) While our inner polarities may seem to be fighting against one another, oftentimes, when we invite them into respectful conversation with one another, we find they have the same (or similar) goals and the ability (and desire!) to be teammates. As I write this paragraph, noticing both fear/anxiety and hopefulness for the year ahead, I gather these parts to my kitchen table for tea and frank conversation. I remind them that they are both important to me and both necessary to my protection and my growth. I ask them what they both need—to energize them and, also, to offer them relief/rest. I ask if we can work, play, and learn together in 2026. I receive from both parts a tentative, tired, open-minded, open-hearted, committed YES. Laura - Peacefulness Nurturing and wishing peace for all beings. Meeting the moment with kind awareness. Inclining toward a truce with what’s present and true right now. Louisa – Simplicity There was a time when I valued, and even sought out, intricacy and complexity. Now I yearn for essence and depth. There is beauty and ease in what is natural, straightforward, and unadorned. Marilyn – Cozy “December, a month of lights, snow, coziness, and feasts; time to make amends and tie up loose ends; finish what you started and make your wishes come true.” -Unknown Stay cozy this year under layers - layers of warm clothes and accessories, as well as layers of love. These layers keep you cozy, inside and out. Expand and share your coziness with others, do simple or profound acts of kindness that warm up the sudden cold we all feel. Just as we need layers to protect our bodies, we need layers to protect our family, neighbors, friends, community, environment, nation, and the world. Make efforts to find coziness in your life in creative, comforting, and compassionate ways. Pamela – Energy My word for 2026 is ENERGY. I am juggling multiple interesting projects that are both completely engulfing and happening all at the same time. Should I work on my book? No! I need to work on Social Prescribing! Oh wait NO, I have a private practice and need to attend to my clients! WAIT, I HAVE A FAMILY and I’ve heard rumors kids need to eat dinner every night. I do believe that the more energy I expend in a meaningful way, the more energy I have access to. I also believe that a woman needs to nap sometimes. I have made steps to improve my skills managing my time, and have worked for years to wrangle my attention, but this year I think what will serve me well is becoming a better steward of my energy.  by Louisa Foster, PsyD, RDT/BCT
I remember being in college when I first learned the principle behind The Butterfly Effect: that a small action in a complex system could yield a significant, seemingly unrelated result much later and even potentially across great distances. In my Sophomore year, there was a student who always arrived early and sat in the front row of my macroeconomics course. If ever there was a valid place to be grumpy, this was it. But this student greeted everyone as they entered with a silent, penetrating smile. I’m sure a lot of kids thought he was nuts, or maybe stoned, but I noticed that the vast majority, myself included, felt just a little bit more joyful after that gentle interaction. At the end of the semester, I watched as the shy student who sat next to me worked up the courage to approach him and tell him that he had felt desperately alone at school and had been thinking about dropping out. He was far from home and had difficulty making friends, but that twice a week, when he entered this classroom, he felt welcomed and included by that gentle smile and thought that maybe he could hang on just a little bit longer. I know that student wound up staying at school because I saw him several times in the years that followed as I completed my degree, and every time he greeted me, as he did everyone, with the same warm smile that he had so powerfully received from that anonymous student in our classroom. I think of that often as of late when I’m asked, “what can I do?” when confronted with the great suffering in our world. I think of that kid in the front row just smiling, inviting, and welcoming one and all alike. We may feel that we must meet the epic events of our times with an epic response. We may wonder how we as individuals can combat the insensitivity, injustice, and cruelty that occurs on such a grand scale. It seems unlikely for mere individuals to fashion a meaningful response on that level, and that recognition can further our sense of helplessness. But we can always smile at a stranger. We can always choose kindness. We can always soften, put down our judgement, and extend our arms in welcome. We may never know how that small bit of tenderness may change the life of another. |
