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Monique Minahan

fascinated by how we human on

My Books

The Unedited Heart: Letters on Loss

The Grief Practice: Stories of Surviving Loss & Practices for Supporting Loss

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#WriterMo

two pints of ice cream in the freezer the ones I grabbed when everyone else was grabbing toilet paper two pints of hope I congratulate myself on every time we hit a wall, real or imagined his six-year-old head doesn’t understand a threat he can’t see his six-year-old heart understands sweetness melting on his tongue and warm arms around him . so we eat too much ice cream wake up late and go to sleep late do too little schoolwork and read too much Harry Potter tomorrow will come or not but today today is here right now and hope hope is in the freezer
Mirroring. It’s a little like magic, isn’t it? Being mirrored, being seen, or mirroring another. A sweet way the poetry of the body speaks without words, understands without thinking and feels its way into connection. Online yoga feels like this in many ways to me these days. We practice together, mirroring each other from behind our screens, something I seldom did before Covid. As we’ve yoga’d together these last couple months I better understand why true trauma-informed yoga is done like this, together, in sync. What is broken in relationship heals in relationship. I’ll be leading the mirror tomorrow at 5pm, just in time to reboot our nervous systems for the evening shift (you mamas know what I mean :) See you over @gatherencinitas Monday at 5 xox
I looked for the place that he died in me and could not find it not because it was not there but because it had, over the last 18 years, softened into every part of me somewhere along the way every part of me welcomed every part of it so there is nothing to find and nothing to lose just this daily remembering I can hold it all
I ride here for the sanity he rides for the chocolate pretzels the five sweet-and-salty treasures stashed in my pocket the things we hold onto in the middle of a crisis sanity and sweetness stashing them in our hearts for that next rainy day
Every day I am crying for something. No, nothing is wrong with me. Crying for something I’ve lost or someone else has lost or something we’ve lost or will lose. No, nothing is wrong with me. No, I don’t need to find gratitude or look on the bright side or suck it up. . Letting the sad out helps me let the beauty in. The grace and the courage and the community and the connection and the laughs and the heart of our human spirit. . I have spent years wrapping words around sadness and love and then last night my son wrote this story, prompted by our having to give his bearded dragon to a reptile rescue. . “I think that everything has a life cycle. When things die they die. When things die we are sad because we really loved that thing. In fact many things have a life cycle.” . And I cried some more. . Because I really loved that thing. Because you really loved that thing. Because we really loved that thing . Because life cycles end too soon too often. Because before we can grow out of what was we have to mourn it, name it, place a flag in that space in our heart so we never forget that we really loved that thing. . We human on. __________ #thisisnotadressrehearsal #griefisapractice
All that shoulder mobility practice so I can dance with this little man. All that somatic therapy so I can be the mother he chose and deserves. Every day making space for all that’s missing and for all that’s present. Every day forgetting and every day remembering. We human on. ___________ #thisisnotadressrehearsal
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