Author: Abby Rosmarin

“Think of what your most pressing crisis was, right before the pandemic.” I have to smirk. I remember this time, last year. The innocent juxtaposition, like the opening scenes of a disaster film. The world before the virus made landfall, when I was consumed with the creeping inevitability of a situation — the hope that… Continue reading Replacement →

Within the first two punches on the heavy bag, I feel something well up within me. “Oh, I’m apparently angry,” I say, with all the detached objectivity of a biologist studying their animals. “Don’t lose your form over it,” my husband warns, the man who not only tells his Icarus when she’s flown too close… Continue reading Anger →

“Out of all these memories, what do you think is the message from them that you want to undo?” “That I’m not worthy of love,” I tell my therapist. We have moved from emotional mapping to figuring out the baseline for my EMDR. “And what would you want to replace that message with?” she asks.… Continue reading Innate →

"Now this -- this can be put in its box, we can put its lid on it," says my therapist. "And we can leave it in the closet, and only return to it when we want to." I smile -- although she can't see it, through my mask -- and continue my deep breaths. I… Continue reading Emotional Mapping →

I went outside to find Hecate sprawled in the run, motionless. My rooster had been alive the day before -- the crowing had been an audible announcement of that. There was no sign of trauma, of attack, of illness. In some ways, my rooster looked like they were taking a peculiar nap. It was the… Continue reading Platform →

When the woman who had been my grandmother for the last decade died, I went to the ocean. It wasn't planned. I just knew I needed a drive. And I drove. I wove through backroads like I have countless times before, when my soul would be stirring and the only remedy was making the scenery… Continue reading Hindsight →

It’s an Indian Summer, as the saying goes. Or used to go. It’s another term that strikes sour with time and understanding. It ages itself out and is left to its own devices alone. But, just days after there was snow on the ground, when the chill wove its way through the weavings of my… Continue reading Indian Summer →

"Notice your heartbeat," I tell my students. "Without trying to predict anything, can you notice what happens when you breathe in... and breathe out?" It's one of the tricks I use in my yoga therapy groups -- the only classes I currently teach. Ironically, a hospital setting is the potentially the safest place for me… Continue reading Heartbeat →

A fox came into our yard last week. Last week, while the chickens were ranging freely, while I was blissfully indoors and pretending like that was adequate supervision. I didn’t even know anything was wrong until I came out to a pile of scattered feathers and not a chicken in sight. Something is wrong. Something… Continue reading Inevitable →

I'm greeting the fall with insomnia. This is a common occurrence. The seasons change, and I mark it with pock-marked sleep. It's a ritual between nature and my nervous system, my circadian rhythm a secret Druid. I don't worry about it too much. Sleep and I have always had a tenuous relationship. It is the… Continue reading Ephemeral →