May the reason I practice yoga be
To lead others to realizing the true nature
of the Self

Yet in doing that empowering others
Especially my fellow sisters
to advocate for themselves

To not let men walk all over us
In the name of spiritual practices
or enlightenment

For us to claim our voice
As the creative energy that makes
it all happen

Refusing to be treated as anything less
We are not just servants
of the masculine

We are the whirl that creates
The motion and maintains
the balance

People have tried to keep the waves
From rising to their fullest majesty
not anymore, and never again

Originally published on InTheRooms, May 2019
 
During my first attempt at recovery, I learned to play the guitar. At the time, I worked for a Catholic Parish and aid organization in post-war Bosnia-Hercegovina. There was a kind Irish priest (and former rock n’ roller) also in residence who knew that I liked to sing. However, the only instrument I played, the violin, didn’t lend itself well to accompaniment. So he very patiently taught me the art of making chords and strumming. I found that when I was bored in those early days of figuring out what to do with myself, practicing the chords and the necessary movements to move between them more fluidly kept me busy. Then one day, the chord progression I was working on provided me a back drop to create a tune. Led by that tune, I started singing the angst of my heart and calling out to my Higher Power, desperate for a deeper spiritual awakening.
 
Did I just write a song?
 
Playing music and writing music was a lifeline for me in my first few years of sobriety. I ended up taking my last drink less than a year after I stumbled upon what it meant to compose music that is deeply meaningful to my personal journey. Always a lover of reading and writing poetry, the thought of composing a song always felt impossibly complicated. Yet through my trial-and-error, coupled with some experimentation, I discovered just how accessible writing songs was for me as a form of expression. In the field of expressive arts therapy, we call this being in process. In other words, not having a fixed or forced outcome in mind. Rather, we set an intention to express and to explore, learning from our mistakes along the way. Being in process like this teaches us lessons we may have never dreamed possible.
 
In the field of expressive arts therapy, we encourage clients and people in the community to keep an open mind to exploring all forms of creativity and expression—music, dance/movement, writing, visual art, dramatics, you name it! We embrace an all-of-the-above approach. So while the creative form that may feel most accessible to you can be a great place to start (for me it was music and writing), the practices that feel outside your comfort zone may have the most to teach you. For me, I long believed that the visual arts were my “weak link,” because I was never any good at art in school. Yet when I began deepening my commitment to practicing all of the expressive arts for my own healing and recovering journey, I actually discovered that visual art had the most to teach me. Because I wasn’t focused on it being “good,” I was just able to have fun, be in my body, and learn to not beat myself up for making mistakes. As result, playing with the visual arts in the later years of recovery had just as much to teach me about myself and the healing journey as playing music did in those early days.
 
This all describes the magic that we call process in the world of expressive arts. You may have noticed that the title of my latest book Process Not Perfection: Expressive Arts Solutions in Trauma Recovery takes a twist on the recovery slogan “progress not perfection.” For me, both the power of process in expressive arts therapy and this wisdom at this slogan are trying to teach us the same thing—don’t force outcome. Learn from the process and the journey. In early 2017 as I begin stirring with ideas for bringing this book into existence, this poem came out of me that ended up revealing the title:
​
            In Process
 
Works of art in gestation
Are often called
Works in progress
The slogans and inspirational
Clichés call for
Progress not perfection
We judge students and employees
With the metric of a
Progress report

What if we were to change
Every use of the work "progress"
With the word "process"?
What if works of art in
Gestation are called
Works in process?
What if we encouraged
People to focus on
Process not perfection?
What if our metrics of
Evaluation took on the tone of
Process report?
What if we were to live our lives in process?

All life could transform
Into a journey of art making,
Fueled by the expressive spirit
We could refrain from
Judging ourselves so harshly
And instead savor the unknown
From the unknown and yes,
Even from our mistakes
We can discover a new way of being
From what we once labeled failures
We may unearth a new solution,
A new way to solve a problem
By creating in the moment and
Not forcing the big picture
May we encounter the essence of meaning.
 
If you are looking for meaningful ways to bring expressive practices into your recovery journey, please consider checking out Process Not Perfection. It is written for the general public in a voice that I hope allows you to feel safe enough to take this journey with me. I also have several opportunities where you can connect with a growing community of folks in recovery who also practice the expressive arts, specifically the Dancing Mindfulness and Expressive Arts Community Forum on Facebook. You are also welcome to visit my complimentary resources website at www.traumamadesimple.com for a wide selection of meditation, yoga, and other skill videos linked from my YouTube channel. And if you explore that YouTube channel (Jamie Marich) long enough (and go back far enough), you can also find some footage of me playing music! 

Attune me to today
Let my words
Be your words
And may I respond
To life's challenged
From the fusion of
My humanity and
My divinity

​For years I was scared to buy paint. One of my college roommates was an art major, and it captivated me to watch her paint. She had the capacity to create such beautiful, museum-quality pieces with her amazing talent. I loved to watch her work her magic! To this day I am proud to have several of her pieces and prints in my home, as I’m reminded of those beautiful memories of watching her in-the-zone.
 
Like many people I’ve worked with through the years, my barrier to painting and to most visual art came from a sense of “I can’t do it,” or “I’m not good enough.” I never seemed to have this issue with music, dance, theater, or writing where there was at least some evidence of my competence, usually in the form of compliments or accolades received. I never had a problem calling myself a writer, for instance, winning many awards throughout middle school and high school. And then came the books…
 
But to call myself a visual artist? To call myself a painter? Hell no! After watching my roommate work, I still felt you had to have a special artist license to even buy paint…
 
There is one visual form I felt reasonably comfortably approaching: collage. Born out of my love for making travel scrapbooks, collaging spoke to me because there didn’t seem to be competence involved. And I very much enjoyed the process of taking scraps and allowing them to develop into something meaningful when put together. As I began working with my own expressive arts mentor Christine Valters Paintner, I began to get braver about working with visual arts. Sure, I’d long kept some basic drawing materials in the office for my clients and out at Dancing Mindfulness retreats. Yet when I began working with Christine and realizing just how much Dancing Mindfulness as a program connected with the all-of-the-above nature of the expressive arts, I got braver about exploring my edge as an expressive artist.
 
I continued with collage and ventured into working with pastels and markers. I quickly found that visual arts had even more to teach me because I didn’t approach them with any kind of expectation about the quality of the product. There’s something to be said about being the worst kid in art class who was never chosen for any shows. Because competence was never my focus in visual art, I was naturally more open to just enjoying it, to being in process, and learning from what making just for fun revealed.
 
I credit crossing the paint threshold to my ex-husband after he saw how much I liked coloring and pastels. When I was going through an especially rough patch in the Fall of 2016, he bought me a paint-by-numbers kit. Although initially skeptical, I soon found that I enjoyed it even more than coloring books. There was something soothing and containing about having lines in which to work, yet my hand responded to the sensation of moving paint along a canvas. I loved everything about it; the colors, the smells, and yes, even the feeling of accomplishment when I saw the final product. There was some leftover paint and while at my local craft store on a run for some other supplies, I bought a small canvas and decided to use the leftover pain to express something original. I painted a mandala and it spoke to me very much.
 
I continued with this process for the next few months—finishing paint-by-numbers kits and then using the leftover paint to create something original. After a couple rounds of this process, I got brave enough to order some of my own paint off of Amazon and continue with my explorations. I approached it as something fun to do, something that let me play with color and texture and sensation and not be bound by the shackles of outcome.
 
A few months into this journey is where the painting that graces the cover of my latest book Process Not Perfection: Expressive Arts Solutions for Trauma Recovery revealed itself to me. And in this revelation came what is perhaps the greatest lesson that I ever received about the power of process: be open to where the unexpected, even the failures, may guide you. A pleasant surprise may blossom when you shed these expectations.  
 
I laid down a foundation in gauche, the first time I ever experimented with this unique form closely related to watercolor. I also played around with using some shimmery paints that you can apply with a spray bottle. I liked the mystical ocean of color that was coming into existence! Then the idea came to me—paint a Hand of Fatima! This blue magic would certainly be an ideal backdrop for this symbol I’d come to adore. I printed out a copy of the hand online to follow. This unique pattern, sometimes referred to as a Hand of Hamhsa, seemed relatively easy to copy or trace, even for someone as unskilled as I. When I looked at the lopsided result of my attempt to paint the hand in white acrylic with a fine brush, I was disheartened.
 
“See, I ruined my cool blue background,” I huffed in frustration.
 
In the spirit of process, I rolled with that frustration, angrily ripping away a paper towel and I just started rubbing. I hoped that enough of it would come off so that I might be able to salvage some of the base. What emerged was the cool, rather mystical white outline of a flower that you now see on the cover of the book.
 
“Wow, the hand now looks like a cloud, or a flower,” I said.
 
I noticed that my raging by paper towel maneuver also made some very interesting patterns on the canvas that I just began filling in with gold… and then with green. And then as I noticed the flower take shape, I finished off the core image with some of the pinkish-magenta that now composes the flower itself.
 
I stood back in amazement, declaring, “I did that! It’s beautiful!”
 
And it was totally an accident, the fruit of staying in process and not being fixated on outcome.
           
From the moment I began writing Process Not Perfection, I knew that this image would be my book’s cover. For being in the process that birthed this painting is when I truly fell in love with the magic of expressive arts. I adore how the practices of expressive arts therapy invite me into a focus on process rather than perfection, and I am so grateful to be surrounded by a community of other expressive artists who inspire me to carry this lesson into all areas of my life.
           
To the process, my friends! And to the inevitable magic that will unfold from living a life in process…

I’m tired and
I just want to go home
I am hungry all the time and
I constantly yearn to be touched
Not just by anyone--
By the one I adore more than I should
I crave the things I cannot have and
I resent having to wear this meat suit

My soul is already home
My body longs to catch up
My body is exhausted
My body still wanders
My body constantly feels teased
My body is hungry all the time and
My body yearns to be touched
Can’t she just get with the program?

I know I am not my body
My soul is who I truly am
When I recognize this truth, I am at peace
And it’s so fucking hard to stay there
When I live in this human shell
I am not my limbic brain and yet
I have a limbic brain, a brain that is tired
And just wants to go home

​

Dear Jamie-
I am nearing the end of my journey
And I've been with you through much of yours
I was there when wanting to off yourself
Was still in your thoughts every night
And I'm glad that you stayed around to take care of me
And that you stayed around to let me take care of you

Remember, dear Jamie, you named me Joy for a reason
I am the only animal in your life you got to name
And you named me Joy
You needed more Joy in your life
And I was happy to give it
I still am

I hope that now, as I near the end of my time
You are closer to learning that Joy is within you
Love is within you
Light is within you
Like your beloved Dorothy, everything you need is
Already within you

Including Joy
I still have some time left, so I'll hang around
Until I know that you've gotten it for sure
At least I know that
You will never let anyone
Lock me up in a cold basement again

Originally published on Yoganonymous (2015) by Dr. Jamie Marich
Photography by Laura Waldhier

“I think it’s wonderful when people find God. What I don’t think is wonderful is when people assume this excuses them from working on their shit.”

Without even knowing it, my first recovery sponsor Janet gave me a fabulously potent warning about the dangers of spiritual bypass.  She was not one to use a curse word, so when she dropped that bomb, I was sure to listen! When I began my own journey along the path of recovery and wellness fourteen years ago, I had the privilege of working in a well-known pilgrimage site in the Catholic world (Medjugorje, Bosnia-Hercegovina). Seekers came from around the world to this mystical place searching for healing and for answers. During my three years of service, I had the opportunity to watch people who worked in the village for a long period become impassioned about faith…and then fall apart when the realities of their lives confronted them with full force. I saw numerous problems with addiction and mental illness amongst the seekers and even felt myself falling prey to the “If I could just be a good enough Catholic then all of my issues will clear up.” Fortunately, Janet’s wise mentorship entered my life, and she instructed me that I could still pursue a spiritual path while addressing my issues and doing the painful work that came with it.

In yoga and meditation circles, I’ve been hearing more discussion about spiritual bypass in the last few years, and I am grateful for this increased awareness. However, many people I teach have never heard of spiritual bypass and are searching for a useful working definition along with some examples, and I seek to provide both in this article. Buddhist teacher John Welwood first coined the term spiritual bypass in the 1970’s. In an interview he gave with Tina Fossella some thirty years after his original article on the subject, Wellwood explains:

Spiritual bypassing is a term I coined to describe a process I saw happening in the Buddhist community I was in, and also in myself. Although most of us were sincerely trying to work on ourselves, I noticed a widespread tendency to use spiritual ideas and practices to sidestep or avoid facing unresolvedemotional issues, psychological wounds, and unfinished developmental tasks.  

The first book devoted entirely to the subject of spiritual bypass specifically as a recovery issue, came from psychologist Ingrid Mathieu (now Clayton) in 2011. She concisely defines spiritual bypass as “the use of spirituality to avoid dealing with ourselves, our emotions, and our unfinished business.”
           
It is important to note that discussing spiritual bypass does not seek to demonize spiritual, or even religious practice in modern times. For many of us, finding a spiritual path becomes a critical part of our journey towards recovery, wellness, and transformation. But at what point does the pursuit of spiritual practice, whether it be meditating, going to church, practicing yoga, or even going to recovery meetings and saying the requisite prayers and slogans become avoidant? As a clinical counselor with a dual specialty in addiction and trauma, I’ve come to believe that anything, even activities that are fundamentally healthy, can become maladaptive when they assist us in numbing out to the realities of life. I’ve seen it happen with exercise, and I’ve seen it happen with spiritual practice.
           
You may be shaking your head at me already and protesting, “Aren’t these things supposed to help us cope with intensity?” I would agree that in teaching people skills for stabilization (i.e., coping) and containment over the years, spiritual activities rank high on my list of what I attempt to foster in others. Yet I also assert that people will do just about anything to keep from feeling difficult emotions, whether they come in the form of anger, guilt, sadness, frustration, or any number of manifestations. People may attempt repress these feeling with going to an overabundance of yoga classes and/or church services, or meditating in just the right way with just the right teacher for hours on end, just as easily as other people may stuff these feelings down with drugs or alcohol. The forms of how emotional avoidance may manifest differ, yet the core issue is the same. I also contend, after helping many individuals on their own trauma recovery paths, that peace can come when the difficult emotions are finally felt all the way through—fully, and without apology, in a safe container (e.g., like working with a therapist, a support group, or an open-minded spiritual teacher who has done their own work). More distress generally happens when we hold down what we need to express than in the expressing itself.
           
About four years ago, I grieved the loss of a relationship. To give it a little context, I was grieving the loss that an old love from high school—a lovely man who re-entered my life at several points in my adult life. Seriously, it was like something out of The Thornbirds. Back in 2011, it became clear that although we loved each other very much, we were on two totally different life paths and a serious relationship was not meant to be—even after all of the near misses. I wasn’t just angry with the God of my understanding…I was fucking pissed. And I had enough insight to identify that being so livid with God was keeping me stuck. I couldn’t understand why the God I trusted so much and attempted to seek through my various practices would keep teasing me with the promise that the love this man and I shared could blossom into something I really wanted. In the aftermath of our last parting of ways, I shared with a trusted friend of mine, “I am so angry at God and I know I need to get it out… but it would feel like sacrilege to really let it all rip.”
           
Both the good little Catholic girl and good little yogi ego states gnawed at my conscience—it felt like dangerous ground to go there. Wasn’t I supposed to be seeking detachment? Wasn’t I supposed to be grateful for all that God blessed me with on my path? Wasn’t I just being selfish and self-centered, needing to spend more time in church, in prayer, in meditation, on the mat?
           
And then it hit me—if I truly believe that the God of my understanding knows all and sees all, wouldn’t he already know how pissed at him I really was? At that point I decided to ditch both the shoulds and the s’postas and deal with my deepest darkest feeling—which happened to be bitter anger towards a God who I still loved and was grateful for. Through journaling honestly, dancing, and sharing with a trusted member of my support system, I felt the anger—brutally, painfully, and all the way through. On the other side of that work God and I were in a better place than ever. I was able to let go of my attachment to that great love of my life while continuing to be gentle with myself if emotions around him continued to surface (and they can still surface from time to time). This work opened the way for a new relationship (my current husband) to enter in, and more importantly, new growth in my spiritual practice and relationship with the God of my understanding.
           
As my sharing hopefully demonstrates, spiritual bypass is not just a religious thing. Anyone who is on a spiritual and/or religious path may become susceptible. I see people bypassing in yoga and meditation circles just as readily as I saw it while working for a major organized religion. As I shared, sometimes my own struggles with spiritual bypass are informed by old religious messages from my past, made fresh again by messages I can also receive from teachers along the paths of yoga and meditation or those in recovery programs. The themes are really very similar.

Originally published on Yoganonymous (2015) by Dr. Jamie Marich
Photography by Natalie Mancino

When the first aerial yoga studio opened up in my city in 2013, I wrote it off as just another fitness yoga fad. People seemed to be swarming to it because of the novelty, yet because I am large of stature, I knew it would never be for me. Two judgments right there—of others, and myself! A stroke of good timing, the universe conspiring to nudge me in the right direction, and the fruits of my existent yoga and mindfulness practices manifesting converged a few weeks before Christmas of 2014. I decided to give aerial yoga a try. A few months prior, the Facebooksphere connected me with Jennifer Neal, the visionary yogini and dancer who pioneered aerial yoga in our rust belt city of Youngstown, OH. There was something about her energy that resonated. When I finally made my way over to her beautiful studio, a true oasis in our often-bleak city, I told her that I was afraid. Jennifer, in her beautiful way, validated and normalized my fear as a newcomer. She also assured me that the fabric could likely hold a horse or a small car. While some might see that as condescending, I appreciated the humor of it. In realizing that truth, the life and recovery lessons began to flow…

1. The fabric, like the universe and my understanding of God/spirit, holds much more weight than I realize.
            During my first few classes I was terrified to jump in the aerial fabric designed to support me. This fear was mostly due to the weight issue. However, even in poses that required me to spread the fabric out with some force, my trepidation still showed. When Jennifer noticed this she assured me, “The fabric can take a lot, it’s there to support you.” As soon as she said that I realized that, like the universe and the God of my understanding, I don’t give these vessels that exist to support me their proper credit. When I can practice the faith that they will hold me, I am not afraid to try new things.

2. I am stronger than I give myself credit for.
            I remember the pose exactly: side plank. During a private aerial session with Jennifer, she instructed me, from a seated position in the swing, to grip the sides of the fabric and simultaneously pull-and-roll myself onto my right side. Even as I protested, “No way am I strong enough to do that,” I was doing it. We both laughed at the silliness. So as I flew above the studio floor in a side plank position, it clicked: Clearly I am way stronger than I think I am. My aerial journey continues to prove this to me with ever new pose and subtle variation that I learn. It’s made me notice just now natural it’s been for me to doubt my strength, even during those times when my strength is clearly working in my favor.  No doubt I’ve done this on the mental/emotional plane as well, and aerial is helping me make a change towards claiming instead of doubting my own strength.

3. Comparison truly is the thief of joy.
            Although I liked this well-known quote of inspirational living attributed to Teddy Roosevelt, practicing aerial yoga made forced me to truly work on it or practice it.  Jennifer and other yoga teachers with whom I studied beautifully remind us that yoga is “not a competition.” Yet for me, a type-A overachiever in other areas of my life, it’s been difficult for me to put into practice. I’ve never been especially athletic. After a few classes of practicing aerial and seeing how much more naturally others were taking to the practice during their first class, the temptation to quit was strong. Old memories about being the last kid picked in gym class surfaced. Yet when I focused on the small steps of progress that I was taking in each class—holding poses a little longer, getting into poses that I couldn’t the class before, I truly felt happy. When I made a commitment to drown everyone else out and focus on my own practice, aerial yoga began to fill me with fierce joy.

4. Don’t leave before the miracle happens.
            At least 10 times during my first 10 classes and lessons, I found myself saying, “I don’t need this!” I almost walked out of the first class, and at the end of it I even said to myself, “The injury risk is just too high and you need to be mobile to work, especially with all of the travel that you do!” I decided to give a private lesson a try before making a definitive conclusion. When I started the comparison games I almost quit again, and then when I hit another barrier when an old knee injury got agitated (more on why that happened in #9). Looking back at it now, had I left at any of those junctures—which could have happened considering my history with some physical activities—I would have missed out on all of the strength, joy, and benefits to myself that I’ve accessed.

5. When I Can’t Actually Ground, I Can Find Stability in My Breath
            Many of my trauma therapist colleagues are mystified by my love for aerial yoga considering that in my teaching life, I promote the benefits of yoga and meditation for grounding. Very early in my practice it struck me that keeping my breath even and deep was the key to working through the fear and instability that I experienced on the fabric. Not having literal grounding prompts me to rely more on my breath. In doing so I’ve been able to recognize, in all areas of my life, just how much connection exists between my breath and the earth.

6. Anticipation causes me to lose my breath.
            Staying in the moment and keeping by breath full and steady is paramount in aerial yoga. I usually end up falling out of a pose, or talk myself out of getting into a new and more challenging pose when I start anticipating the outcome—how it should look when I get into the full expression of the pose. Even though I’ve heard and fundamentally believed the logic of “it’s about the journey and not the destination” throughout my adult life, I never fully embraced its relevance until I began my aerial practice. When I catch myself not breathing fully in any area of life, it’s usually because I am anticipating. Thus, I can accept the challenge of returning to the present moment.

7. The body can learn new lessons.
            My body is capable of so much more than I give it credit for, especially when I can celebrate the small victories. I can honestly say that my body, which I’d once written off as past her prime, feels stronger now after several months of aerial practice than it did when I figure skated in my early teens. Sure, things in aerial yoga freak me out, like have my feet—my vehicles for fleeing dangerous situations—bound in poses like inverted bound angle. Yet noticing this freak out, breathing through it, and realizing the danger it posed in my body challenged me to look at old fears and memories about not being able to escape. I’ve received so many different types of trauma therapy during my life yet nothing has quite yet helped with some of my old body stuff like working through my fears around the poses.

8. Most discomfort  experience can be adapted to and accommodated.
            In aerial yoga, it can take your body a few sessions to adapt to the pressure of the fabric digging into your body, especially in sensitive areas like the hip creases and below the arm pits. As someone who long accepted that I don’t have to do what doesn’t feel good to my body, I almost used the pressure as an excuse to bail out during the first ten sessions. Aerial challenges me, in a new way, to constantly listen to my body about the differences between pain and challenges that I can learn to navigate. During one of my first times attempting swing balance, I sat there with the fabric digging into my glutes, and I said to myself, “This is bullshit.” Yet I made a choice to keep breathing and after about thirty seconds or so, the annoying pressure passed. Truly, a lesson for me in distress tolerance…

9. Making an adjustment in one area of the body can transform pain and make all of the difference in another area of the body.
            My friend Jessica also found herself inspired by Youngstown’s aerial yoga revolution and completed a teacher training herself. In working with her privately during her first few weeks as a teacher, she immediately diagnosed why I experienced so much knee pain during aerial bound angle. She noted, “You are dumping your core instead of engaging it. Try it again and be mindful to not let the core collapse.” Since that adjustment, I’ve been able to do the pose (and the inversion) without any knee pain. Like in life, sometimes when we beat ourselves up about one thing, the answer is to make an adjustment in another area, even if the connection isn’t immediately apparent.

10. Freedom is on the other side of fear.
            When Jennifer first whipped this mantra out at me, I must admit, I did the internal eye roll. I’d always fancied myself as a person whose life in recovery set her free, yet those first few sessions of aerial practice revealed to me just how much I’d been holding back from living my life to the fullest. That restraint is all fear-related. In learning the aerial version of locust pose, there was a moment when I first took my hands off of the fabric to fully balance on my hips and I went “Weeee!” As Jennifer observed, as soon as I felt the freedom, I cowered back and freaked out. I will be honest: I am still working on fully living out this truth of freedom existing on the other side of fear. Yet I have strong faith that one day I will experience freedom in my life to an even greater degree, and that is why I keep coming back to the fabric.