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GO: The First Tool for Rewriting Your Story

Before we change anything in our lives, we have to learn how to see. That’s why the first step in The Healing Elements is noticing. We start by observing the patterns—those repeated thoughts, deeply held beliefs, and emotional states that shape what we expect from the world. Most of us don’t even realize we’re running old scripts until we feel stuck, disconnected, or overwhelmed.

Once we notice, we can begin to work with those patterns directly.

That’s where the first tool comes in: GO.

What Is GO?

GO stands for Generate Opposite. It’s simple, but not simplistic. And it’s often the key to real movement—the kind that feels like forward motion after a long time of circling the same emotional terrain.

Here’s how it works:
Take a recurring thought or belief that feels limiting or painful. Write it down. Then write its opposite. And for the next few days, speak the new thought as if it were already true.

Let’s say the original thought is, “I don’t deserve to be happy.”
Your opposite might be: “I deserve happiness.” Or even: “My joy is natural and safe.”

The goal isn’t to wallpaper over something difficult. The goal is to offer your mind and body a new emotional posture—one you can begin to inhabit through language, imagination, and presence.

Sometimes we think affirmations are silly because they don’t match our current reality. But what if they’re not meant to match it? What if they’re meant to reshape it?

You Can Start with Emotion, Too

GO works with emotion as well as thought.

If you’re feeling anxious, try to generate an experience of calm or safety. That might mean stepping outside, talking to someone you trust, or engaging in something that brings joy or inspiration.

A new thought is powerful. But a new feeling—especially one you create on purpose—is transformative.

Two Loud Teachers

My first real encounter with GO didn’t look like a self-help moment. It looked like two screaming goats.

Leo and Orion arrived with tiny voices and cherubic faces. But as they grew, their vocal cords matured into something else entirely. Let’s just say their bleating could pierce through walls—and often did.

Their cries always escalated when I was immersed in something quiet: writing, reflecting, or planning.

My first internal reaction?
“Shut up.”

And that was the thought I wrote down.

Then I asked: What’s the opposite?

“Speak up.”

It startled me. I hadn’t realized how much of my life had been spent managing silence—keeping things in, playing small, avoiding conflict. Behind that two-word outburst was a much deeper belief: “It’s not safe to be fully seen.”

That’s the one I rewrote next:
“It’s safe to be real.”
“My voice is welcome.”

I didn’t believe these yet. That’s not required. But I spoke them anyway. Wrote them down. Lingered with them.

And over time, I began to notice when I did feel safe, when my voice was heard, when something in me settled instead of bracing.

The Story Beneath the Story

GO helped me recognize how my external world was echoing back my internal state.

Even my melanoma diagnosis showed up with a kind of message: stop disappearing.

I don’t think I “manifested” illness on purpose. But I do believe my soul was asking for something different. It was trying to reroute my attention—not just to my health, but to my life.

There are patterns that want to be undone. GO helps loosen them. It offers an experimental framework: What if the opposite were true? What if you lived into it just a little?

A Few Helpful Affirmations

Of course, it’s not magic. But sometimes it feels like it.

Here are a few affirmations I worked with during a time when I needed a new story:

  • I know who I am.
  • I love myself.
  • I matter.
  • I feel connection.
  • I am deserving.
  • I am lighthearted.
  • Life is magic.

Some were the direct opposite of an old belief. Others were simply the emotional tone I wanted to amplify. Either way, repeating them gave me a sense of spaciousness—like my mind could stretch a little wider.

Try It for Yourself

So here’s what I invite you to do:

  1. Choose a thought or belief that feels limiting or painful.
  2. Write its opposite.
  3. Say it out loud, as if it were already true.
  4. Try writing the opposite emotion, too—what you want to feel instead. Let it sit alongside the new thought.

You don’t have to do anything else right now. Just begin with the act of generating the opposite.

There are many ways to expand from here—imagining the opposite vividly, play-acting it in daily life, or looking for evidence that it’s already starting to take shape. But we’ll get to those in other posts.

For now, just GO. Let the opposite idea exist. Speak it. Let it change the shape of your thoughts.

This is how stories begin to shift—word by word.


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Nature Nudges

Garage, Sweet Garage

I cleared out the garage to make room for new life.

Leo and Orion arrived in a large dog carrier—two baby goats gifted by a friend with an eighty-goat dairy in Cumberland, Wisconsin. I drove them thirty miles home on Highway 46, where they huddled in the far corner of the carrier, wide-eyed and wary.

Their new residence: a metal pole shed with a dirt floor and two south-facing windows. It shared a view with my kitchen door. I thought of it as homey. They did not. I’m pretty sure a garage and a wire enclosure weren’t on their bucket list. From the start, they saw the place as temporary. A prison, really. And they made mental notes of every security weakness they could exploit for a potential escape.

Their sense of captivity lasted about four days—until they realized I was the one delivering the milk.

Twice a day, I showed up. They were ready. The twin kids would climb over each other to reach the bottles. A three-minute duet of staccato sucking noises followed. Whoever finished first would shove the other aside and latch onto the second bottle to get the drizzle of remaining milk. And slowly, they began to trust me. Leo, who had wanted nothing to do with me on day one, started climbing into my lap and gazing into my eyes like he’d known me forever.

This was a few years after a traumatic brain injury—an injury I worked hard to overcome. At the time, I was insistent that it wouldn’t derail what was then a new career as a therapist. I was used to pushing through. Twelve-hour workdays gave me the illusion that I could outwork the damage. That it was just another obstacle to clear.

Then in 2012, I was diagnosed with melanoma.

A general surgeon told me I’d need a second surgery with an oncology specialist. More tissue would need to be removed—including surrounding lymph nodes—to make sure we got it all. A biopsy would follow to check if the cancer had spread.

I scheduled the surgery. But I wasn’t convinced.

For a while, I flipped between “good elements” and “bad elements.” After the one-two punch of brain injury and cancer, I gave “cancer” a dark persona: sinister, gravelly, shoving aside the sunlit breezes and baby-bird chirping I loved so much. I wanted to fight back.

And then I paused. A thought drifted in: what if this wasn’t something to fight?

Maybe going after every last cancer cell would be missing the point. Maybe the cancer was a message—something I needed to listen to. Maybe the healing would come not from action, but from stillness.

I cancelled the surgery and the lymph node biopsy. I sensed that what I really needed was rest. I decided to get out of my body’s way and let it do what it knew how to do. I hoped, deeply, that it knew what it was doing.

I also began to look inward. I read about the Type C personality—one shaped around coping by not coping. People who don’t share their feelings, who put others first, who repress their needs.

That description felt uncomfortably accurate.

I loved the work of attuning to others and helping them discover their own wisdom. I also loved the way that work let me avoid the things in me that didn’t feel good. Vulnerability, uncertainty, and emotional discomfort weren’t welcome guests. While I often prescribed emotional openness to my clients, I rarely gave myself the same medicine.

So I stepped back. I referred my clients to other therapists and turned inward. Sort of. Not wanting to hand control over to the elements, I did what you do when you’re not quite ready to get quiet: I got goats.

And in doing so, I began to rewrite my story without even realizing it.

During the consult with the oncology surgeon, a friend asked what would happen if I didn’t have the surgery.

“The cancer will come back,” the surgeon said.

Not could. Not even would. Will.

That word stuck with me. I felt the absence of context. No “if,” no “unless,” no consideration for the healing I was already trying to cultivate. I wanted to live in a different story. One where “will” softened into “could,” and maybe even into “won’t.”

The goats helped me live in that new story.

Each day I fed them, and each day they seemed to love me more. The garage shifted. It stopped being a prison and became a home. They stopped planning to leave. I stopped trying to escape myself.

Time passed. Trust returned. The story, like the garage, softened.

Eventually, it became the story of someone who chose to live just slightly more within their own range. Someone who fed goats twice a day and rewrote her fear into something gentler. Someone who didn’t have cancer—not in that moment, not in that morning, not in the soft look Orion gave me after finishing his bottle.

I imagined myself as someone who doesn’t have cancer.

And Orion, standing beside me in the dusty garage light, imagined it too.

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Start Here: How to Explore the Blog & Core Curriculum

The image below shows an example of the kind of inner change this site is here to support.

Our minds don’t always do “order,” do they?

When I used to help parents with kids who were struggling, I’d always come back to two trusty guides: structure and consistency. The more things were falling apart, the more those two helped hold things together.

Turns out, the same thing applies when your mind is the one throwing the tantrum.

Structure means getting to know the core elements I’ll introduce here—simple, powerful pieces that work together to create awareness and change. You’ll start by using Markers to spot what’s going on beneath the surface, then apply Tools to help shift what isn’t working. These all come together in three main parts:

  • Markers – little clues that help surface what’s been buried underground. They pull up patterns, beliefs, emotions, and other sneaky things that run the show.
  • Tools – ways to shift what the Markers reveal. These are practices, reframes, and approaches to help change the stuff that’s not serving you.
  • Plots – the where of your life: career, relationships, body, spiritual path. And the when things shift moments—the plot twists, unexpected challenges, and growth edges that invite you to rethink your path. Plots are where the work gets real—and rich with meaning.

Consistency just means bringing these elements into some kind of rhythm—something that helps you understand what’s really going on, and lets that understanding spark change. It might be a daily practice, a go-to strategy for when emotions run high, or simply a gentle way to track your growth over time.

No pressure. No perfection. Just a set of solid stepping stones for those of us who like to wander with a map and a sense of adventure.

So go ahead—pick a post that speaks to you. Follow a trail of breadcrumbs. Or just poke around and see what finds you.

To explore by topic, head to the bottom of the blog page where you’ll find a list of categories.

Auto-Thoughts

Quick, automatic thoughts that pop up in daily life—often shaped by old beliefs and past experiences.