Blog manager’s note: Before you get all up in arms wondering what kind of gift the novel coronavirus could possibly be, read on. This is the second of what will be a series of posts by ATN‘s wonderful staff and volunteers concerning the COVID-19 pandemic. We plan to present a variety of perspectives with the goal of
Having read and thoroughly enjoyed ATN board member Janyne McConnaughey’s first book, Brave, A Personal Story of Healing Childhood Trauma, reviewed here in June 2018, I had looked forward to immersing myself in her second, Jeannie’s Brave Childhood: Behavior and Healing Through the Lens of Attachment and Trauma. It was worth the wait. As a
I don’t think this the most beautifully written post I’ve ever created. I do think it might be one of the most important. Here’s why. I am the most exhausted and energized I have been in a very long time! Exhausted because… I flew into Washington, DC, then spent nearly 2 hours getting from Dulles
Countless longtime members of ATN are parenting children severely impacted by early trauma. They may carry the painful memories of searching far and wide for trauma-informed resources, as do many who serve on ATN’s staff and board. Each year, members ask whether or not parents should attend ATN’s Creating Trauma-Sensitive Schools (CTSS) Conference. The answer
Note from the blog manager The “big” holidays are over, but the holiday season is not. Families with children affected by early trauma and attachment disorders still find themselves struggling to maintain structure and connection in the midst of all of the celebrations, which for us may mostly feel like chaos. And that can mean
As a trauma and emotion-centered psychotherapist, I am relieved that children are now being screened for toxic stress. Thinking about mental health as a byproduct of a child’s environment is an important addition to current thinking on how to improve children’s wellbeing. Rushing to diagnose a child with a potentially stigmatizing label, incorrectly blaming “defective”
I saw them the moment we entered the restaurant. The dad was suited up, ready for Mother’s Day at our favorite Indian buffet. The little girl, her black hair chopped in the style I instantly recognized as the “Indian orphanage bob,” sat safely strapped into a high chair. The mom wore a salwar kameez, blond
–by Julie Beem In early October I fell and broke my left knee cap (annihilated it into pieces is a more accurate description). The skillful surgeon put Humpty Dumpty back together again, but I was ordered to remain immobile for six weeks while my old bones decided to knit back together. Right before Thanksgiving, the
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