Teasel
MyPTSD Pro
Interested to hear about books you've loved and why?
I'll pick one,
dreditheger.com
It was suggested to me by a woman staying in a respite home for suicidal people. Couldn't stand her which is not like me but I absolutely loved this book, really powerful.
“ALL YOUR ECSTASY in life is going to come from the inside,” my ballet master had told me. I never understood what he meant. Until Auschwitz.
Magda finally speaks to me. “How do I look?” she asks. “Tell me the truth.” The truth? She looks like a mangy dog. A naked stranger. I can’t tell her this, of course, but any lie would hurt too much and so I must find an impossible answer, a truth that doesn’t wound. I gaze into the fierce blue of her eyes and think that even for her to ask the question, “How do I look?” is the bravest thing I’ve ever heard. There aren’t mirrors here. She is asking me to help her find and face herself. And so I tell her the one true thing that’s mine to say. “Your eyes,” I tell my sister, “they’re so beautiful. I never noticed them when they were covered up by all that hair.” It’s the first time I see that we have a choice: to pay attention to what we’ve lost or to pay attention to what we still have. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I'll pick one,
The Book - Dr. Edith Eger
THE CHOICE: Embrace the Possible Internationally acclaimed psychologist Dr. Edith Eger—one of the last remaining Holocaust survivors—tells her unforgettable story...
dreditheger.com
It was suggested to me by a woman staying in a respite home for suicidal people. Couldn't stand her which is not like me but I absolutely loved this book, really powerful.
“ALL YOUR ECSTASY in life is going to come from the inside,” my ballet master had told me. I never understood what he meant. Until Auschwitz.
Magda finally speaks to me. “How do I look?” she asks. “Tell me the truth.” The truth? She looks like a mangy dog. A naked stranger. I can’t tell her this, of course, but any lie would hurt too much and so I must find an impossible answer, a truth that doesn’t wound. I gaze into the fierce blue of her eyes and think that even for her to ask the question, “How do I look?” is the bravest thing I’ve ever heard. There aren’t mirrors here. She is asking me to help her find and face herself. And so I tell her the one true thing that’s mine to say. “Your eyes,” I tell my sister, “they’re so beautiful. I never noticed them when they were covered up by all that hair.” It’s the first time I see that we have a choice: to pay attention to what we’ve lost or to pay attention to what we still have. “Thank you,” she whispers.
