What's Your Song?

You have to be willing to break into a song while in your worst day.

That’s right.

Start singing while you are on the floor sobbing.  (Click to Tweet!)

It’s ugly looking. It feels messy.

It might even make you feel nauseous.

You may feel like you are out of control.

But something will happen in that moment.

The breaking into a song while you are sobbing is you taking the controls back.

That is you saying, I am going to show you who is in charge grief.

I am going to sing my heart out while you are breaking it.

You want a contest grief? You got it.

You make me cry. And I will make you hear my song.

See who makes it.

See who lasts longer.

See who comes back.

I bet you didn’t expect the singing.

I bet you thought a heart so broken can’t break into a song while breaking itself.

You thought wrong.

Here it is.

My song. Fight Song by Rachel Platten

What is yours?


With lots of singing,



Find the Code

Emotional pain is not all the same.

Not measured in a simple scale of easy, hard, very hard.

It has many directions.

It moves across your chest.

And then digs in as if your physical body is endless.

There is the throwing up kind of pain.

Where its movement causes you to feel nausea.

Then there is the sobbing uncontrollably type.

When that happens your whole body is crying.

I have also seen pain that is completely quiet. No nausea, no crying, nothing.

It looks like everyone you see on the train to work, or inside the cars on the highway.

I call that pain the empty pain.

I have seen the very scary pain too.

The pain of fear.

That kind of pain makes you feel like you can’t breathe.

It takes your air out of your lungs.

And you stop breathing for long periods of time.

The pain of fear gets us very close to not wanting to live.

It makes us drink alcohol. Eat junk. And self destruct.

Emotional pain then goes from an invisible non physical state to the physical.

It looks like illness. Sickness. Back pain. Headaches.

Weight gain or loss. Skin changes. And even cancer.

Then the pain of fear gets the upper hand.

And it rules all the other pain.

It shuts us down.

The pain of fear is the biggest liar of all.

In order to graduate from the non physical to the physical it has to find a way to control our mind.

Because when it does, it takes control of our bodies too.

Pain goes viral and systemic. It owns our lives.

We can’t have that.

So here is what I am going to ask you to do.

I am going to ask you to do a grief cleanse for 7 days.

Every day you grab your pen, you write about all the scary things.

Inside your stream of consciousness you will find the lies the pain of fear is telling you so it can control your mind.

Here is how you will spot them.

You will start noticing that in the midst of all the writing there is one fear that is being repeated, over and over again.

That is the code.

The code, the pain of fear is writing for you so it can take over your mind.

We will rewrite that code.

So for example, if what you are repeating over and over again is “I am afraid that nobody will love me again.” You will re write that sentence. “I look forward to the new love in my life.”

You will take the new code and add it to your written stream of consciousness when you are writing.

Even if you think it sounds like you are lying to yourself.

You are not the liar here. The pain of fear is. (Click to Tweet!)

And when we take the new code and plug it in to our life the only type of pain that remains is the pain of loss.

Which is a pain that I know we can coexist with.

I know it. You and I know how to do that and still find our way to a really good life.

So start today, write your cleanse, find the fear code, rewrite it. And live your life from there. From the person you can become with this new code.

My new code is: You are unstoppable.

What’s yours?


With code finding skills,



P.S. This week, we were able to feature new guest contributors.  Be sure to read "Keep Going" by Cyndi Francois, "Put Your Oxygen Mask Back On" by Naomi Whittel, and "What's Next...Again...and Again" by Tracey Yeager Blackburn.

Also, please welcome back our returning guest contributor, Karina Vidal.  This week, we published part two of her article titled "A Year of Grief: Part Two".


Change Does Not Feel Like Breaking Bread

Change does not feel like breaking bread. Nope.

It does not feel like chopping wood either.

It is not like swimming.

Or running. Or even climbing.

Nope none of these. However hard some of them are.

Change is so much harder.

It feels like learning to walk on water.

Learning to fly without wings.

It feels like being scared to go out in the dark and having to go out regardless.

It’s like having to walk into a haunted house and there is nobody walking in with you.

Should I go on?

I think you get the feeling.

Even though the word change is not a synonym of darkness or haunting, or even flying without wings, it might as well be.

At least if someone had told us what change really is, we would not have put it under the self help category.

It would have been the 8th wonder of the world.

Rare. Miraculous. Almost inhuman.

Like the Great Pyramid at Giza and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

Because if we knew how hard change is we would prepare accordingly.

We would train for it.

We would find a way to invent wings.

Expecting it to be scary and impossible would have prepared us for the trip.

So since it is never too late. Here it is.

Change is the hardest thing you will ever have to experience.  It is like being reborn without getting a new body. (Click to Tweet!)

Having to use the same brain doing something new with the old commands.

It is like asking ourselves to speak a new language without anyone teaching it to us.

So enough with the world talking about change as if we are breaking bread.

We are not.

We are going into the battlefield.

The jungle.

The darkness.

But here is what I am proposing to take with us.

Night vision glasses or in other words, wisdom from before the loss.

Also some people who have been there before.

They know the stakes, and the ghosts that live in the haunted house.

Photo reminders of ourselves as kids.

Diving in the ocean water without holding our breath.

And above all, well, above all the skill of falling down and getting back up again.

You also did that as a kid.

When you got your new body and learned to walk.

You never considered giving up then.

Life is made of moments of change stemming from very difficult losses.

You are born to learn how to change.

And fine, sure, you can also break bread.

But not before you grab those night vision glasses.

My dear friend, I have been writing to you for 7 years and my responsibility has always been to tell you the truth.

I am not a self help author, I am a battlefield warrior with many bodies all in one.

And I am here to walk inside all the haunted houses in your life….with you.

With night vision and breaking bread,


P.S. Make sure you check out our new authors for this week: Meghan Clukey, Karin Hedetniemi, and Karina Vidal.

Also check out blogs by some of our returning authors: Confessions of a Widower and Threesome.

You have always been the storm

My heart was beating almost as if it was everywhere.

Not just inside my chest.

But inside the two hundred and fifty humans that were waiting to hear me speak.

It was on the walls of the conference room.

Inside the mic on my blouse.

On the stage.

Like a storm of heartbeats.

That is how scared I was.

I walked towards the stage.

I started to speak.

Word after word.

Step after step.

I started to move the storm.

And make me a part of it.

I became the storm.

I walked with it, spoke with it.

Was with it.

“You are not controlling the storm, and you are not lost in it. You are the storm.” Sam Harris

For everything I had to become, I first had to scare myself.

For everything I am, I had to destroy the person I had been. (Click to Tweet!)

I don’t really know how others change.

For me it has always been a scary experience.

This is also why loss broke me in an unmended way.

I was not controlling the storm, I was lost in it.

And could not become it. Not for years.

But even now, the planes I tried to fly, the books I wrote, the talks I have given, the companies I started, the people I loved and lost have all been born inside a storm.

I learned something while inside the storms of my life.

The storm is part of your soul.

Without the storm you would not be human.

Without the storm the stage would not be there, love neither.

The storm is what connects you to the outside world.

So tell me, what is your relationship with your storm?

When life is calling you and the storm takes your breath away, do you still step out?  

And if you do,  remember that the storm is not going to be scary forever.

You will become it and will be on your way to your next chapter, your next love, your next adventure. You have always been the storm.

With storms,


P.S. Check out our newly designed website with my own name: www.christinarasmussen.com

I Stopped Internally Combusting

I stopped it.

It was only for a few seconds.

A few seconds not being who I had been.

The stop, crushed me.

The interruption of who I was, brought on panic.

I interrupted the force that had kept me going.

The engine I installed inside my brain to keep me from losing my mind after loss, was for a few seconds silenced.


I started the engine back again, immediately.

But these seconds were enough to hear inside the silence.

I turned the engine back on.

Roaring. Forging ahead.

My engine has been working on full force for 11 years.

It almost doesn’t need fuel, it just goes.

I became the whole engine.

I put myself inside of it.

It was better than feeling pain.

The engine had a way to stay in motion.

It even has a name, internal combustion.

A small controlled explosion.

Creating enough power so that the car can go places.

I have been combusting internally.

My controlled explosions of motion were breathtaking.

My engine took me places.

As the years went by I forgot that the engine was there.

That is when I became it.

For 11 years.

The engine. Was me.

A human engine that had to be born after loss.

The heart was hurting.

The brain was stuck in a loop of loss and grief.

Something had to get me out.

The engine is extraordinary but also just an engine.

And it should not be allowed to go on combusting for years.

We must stop it. Look around.

Check in on a life without an engine.

And I did that, this week.

I stopped the controlled explosions.

The engineered motion.

It had done its job.

Now I need to do this life thing without my engine.

I don’t know how that will look like, but I do know I am ready.

Ready to experience unengineered beautiful life explosions. (Click to Tweet!)

I hope you turn off the engine too.

The engine of busy, the engine of routine, the engine of running away from the pain.

Even for a few seconds a day.

Give yourself a break from internally combusting.

There is something in store for us that requires no engine, just heart.

No engine just being.

Go on, untethered. Unbound. Free.

Without bounds,


P.S. If you are part of an organization that provides grief services apply here for our next Life Reentry Training for professionals. LINK: https://lifereentry.com/courses/life-reentry-practitioner-training/


It was not like any other day.

Something was in the air.

A heaviness, with no name.

A knowing. A goodbye.

An Ending. A full stop.

And it was known.

Nothing could prevent it. Nothing at all.

It was coming. Like all endings do.

The Ending arrived quietly. Almost like a whisper.

“I am here, and I need to end this.” It murmured.

“But why do you have to be here Ending?” I asked.

“Can’t we have a new beginning without you?”

“This kind of beginning requires me to end some things.” Ending said

“But the things you want to end are things I still need.” I said.

“Yes they are.” Ending said

“So, then don’t visit with me.” I replied.

“It’s too late, I am already here. You must let go.”

“Let go.” Ending whispered again.


As I started to let go, the air moved.

My sadness breathed easier.

“Do you see her coming in?” Ending said and pointed towards the ocean.

I looked but there was nothing.

“Keep looking.” Ending said.

“At first, it will look like nothing is coming.

Keep looking.

Beginnings are formless at first. (Click to Tweet!)

Especially as I am still on my way out.

The further I go, the more you will start to see your beginning clearly.” Ending said and I could barely hear it anymore.

My heart was squashed.

My knees were trembling.

I was on my own now.

Looking for my new beginning.

And as I was standing there, just like that, my beginning appeared in front of me.

She was bigger than I had expected.

At first I could not see all of her.

But the parts I could see surprised me.

This beginning was different to any other beginnings.

She was vaster than the ocean itself.

I sat down, put my hands on my face and cried.

Oh ending, I get it now.

The letting go.

You ending things I thought I still needed.

Of course.

You were right all along.

I could not have this beginning without you ending the things I thought I needed.

With an ending and a beginning,



Don't Stand At The Door

I search and search and search.

Behind every word I say.

After every new decision.

I seek to find myself, the self that lives underneath the rubble.

Under the invisible losses.

And hiding, still.

Sometimes I wonder if I lost her completely.

But as soon as I do, I see her. I hear her.

I feel her presence.

She is still there. Standing tall.

Waiting for her emergence.

You see there is a part of me that never ever reentered.

Life after loss is a little tricky.

Sometimes it appears that we are truly living again.

We are there, at the beach.

Laughing with our friends.

We try new relationships. New jobs.

New houses. New hair. Adventures. Hikes.

We do it all.

But we are never quite there, the way it used to be.

Fully embraced by the present moment.

Standing at the door of each of our experiences.

Just like we would be if we walked inside a house and just stood at the doorway.

This has been my biggest invisible loss.

And it took me many years to figure it out.

The more I reenter, the more clearly I can understand myself and what really happened to me since he died.

A lot happened.

And one thing is for sure, even though I have rebuilt my life from the ground up, there is one thing left to do.

To walk all the way inside my life.

To stop standing at the door.

At first I thought that I was just witnessing everyone because of my life’s perspective.

But as the years went by I looked closer and I saw myself standing at the door and everyone else hanging in the living room or the kitchen.

No wonder it has felt so lonely.

I never let myself all the way in.

I learned that true mastery of life after loss can only be attained by many Life Reentry journeys. (Click to Tweet!)

Each new Life Reentry adds to the one before.

My very first Life Reentry was to laugh out loud for the first time.

The next was to move my bed around.

Then to paint my walls.

Find food tasty again.

Go on an adventure trip with my girls.

Get a new job.

The list goes on.

If I was to count my reentries, there must be thousands.

But as the years go by it gets harder and harder to find my way to the one I need the most.

It took me a while to figure out that there was a part of me that was always left behind standing at the door.

But now that I know, I will make sure no parts of me ever stand at the door again.

During my next Life Reentry class.

I will not only teach it, but will participate fully.

Reentering with everyone else.

And for those already in my class, nudge me, walk with me too.

My question today for you is, which part of you is still standing at the door?

Are you just witnessing everything instead of being inside your life.

And if the answer is yes, it is ok.

Now we both know.

And we will find our way in.


With love and so much life to live,


P.S. 4 Days left until our next Life Reentry Journey. Class begins on Tuesday. Doors close on Monday night. REGISTER HERE: https://lifereentry.com/courses/life-reentry-winter-2018/

There is Someone Living in my Attic

Whenever I want to give up,

I think of the bold words of Ralph Waldo Emerson

“God will not have his work made manifest by cowards”

And I want to scream.

I am not a coward, God.

I am not a coward. I will keep going.

Keep knocking on doors.

Keep doing the work.

Keep making a fool of myself. Falling. Hurting.

And I won’t give up.

Not even when my legs don’t want to move.

Not even when my heart feels like it is sitting inside concrete.

Not even when I would rather be a coward than live this courageous life.

Not even when I ask why bother, we all die.

Why bother with it all when in the end, it doesn’t really matter how much fear I lived through.

I have a confession to make.

Whenever someone really courageous dies, I cry.

I think about all the courage they had to master in their life, all their hard work and now they are gone. Gone. Forever.

Helen Keller, who was deaf and blind all her life and championed for the deaf. Courageous.

Nelson Mandela, spent 20 years in prison. Resilient.

Martin Luther King, fought against so much unfairness. Dreamer.  

George Orwell, gave up his wealth for something greater. Humble.

Amelia Earhart the first female to fly solo across the Atlantic. Disappeared forever while flying around the world. Wonder woman.

I cry for them.

As if they were my friends.

As if we had known each other.

As if I was there when they were there.

I want to be courageous like they were.

I want my life to matter. Like theirs.

And then I think of all of my fears, and I want to grab them, and scramble them.

As if they are made of nothing.

Destroy them with my will.

And scatter them everywhere.

I want to run to the highest mountain, and see what I am made of.

To run out of breath, and collapse.

As if I have no more air to breathe.

And then find my way back. Or not.

Or not.

To not be afraid of that, the not coming back.

To not be afraid of losing everything again.

You see, because of all the loss I have experienced, I am so afraid of loss.

Because I know how my body can’t even withstand it.

It is as if I have seen the monster that lives in my attic and I am scared of it coming out again.

So I go quiet, to not wake it.

So I stay in, so it won’t hear me open the door.

So I pretend to not exist so it won’t come after me and take what I have left.

And then I think about what Ralph Waldo Emerson said about God not entrusting his work to cowards, and I know.

I just know.

I have to make noise even if the monster in my attic hears it.

I have to leave my house knowing that loss will meet me along the way. (Click to Tweet!)

And I know you do too.

You do.

You must come along with me, and let the monster in the attic hear you leave.

Let it come downstairs.

Let is try to scare you.

Let it roar on your face. I know you can roar back. I know you can.

And you know what else?

The monster has a secret.

It can’t leave the prison it has made for you.

So, it tries to keep you inside, afraid of the world outside.

It knows once you are courageous, you won’t look back.

The monster won’t be a monster anymore, it will be something that was feared once but forgotten.

Come along with me, and Amelia, and Martin, and Helen, Nelson too, let’s leave our monsters behind like they did. Let’s...

With many monsters waiting for me to come back home,

P.S. 11 days left until the next exit. Join me in my next class here.

Miracles are real

I think magic is real.

More real than your table.

The chair. Your coffee too.

Miracles are real too.

Science proves it.

Religion talks about it.

Sometimes loss takes away our belief in miracles.

It tells us that the only real things are the things we can see.

Touch. Hear.

Everything else must not exist.

Since it cannot be seen.

I still think magic is real even though it doesn’t look like a table or chair.

Or house. Or trees.

I also think we don’t die.

That life is a miracle and that is born from consciousness. Universe. God.

But how would that help you when you are all alone at night?

When you lost someone you loved from this life?

How would that help you?

You may ask, if miracles are real how come they don’t take my pain away?

And that is a fair question.

I have asked it myself.

If miracles were real maybe they could bring our people back.

Cure the sick.

Stop accidents from happening.

Bring peace and end wars.

But here is what I learned in the process of writing my next book.

Miracles are as real as you are.

And we will believe in them more and more.

We will start to believe in cures. Spontaneous remissions.

Self healing. Synchronicity. Eternity even.

And when we do believe, that what is seen is not all there is we would bring forth a different physical reality.

One that allows for a life that is bigger than tables, chairs and houses.

Bigger than loving each other only when we are inside our physical body.

Today I am asking you to believe in miracles as much as you believe in your dining room table being real.

I know that’s a lot to ask.

I know that the dining room table looks more real than the energy that is around it.

Than healing powers.

Than souls with no physical bodies.

Than other dimensions. Than the universe.

In my humble opinion, when we go through something tragic we can never look at life the way we used to. Like, never. Ever.

So let’s try something together, right here.

Just for a moment stop reading this letter and look around you.

As you do that, look at the space between the wall across from you and you.

Did you know that the empty space between you and the wall is not empty?

That the invisible part of our reality is as real as you and I?

Don’t let anyone tell you that life is all that you see.

Life is so much more than that.

All the miracles live in the unseen and in the seeing of it.

And one more thing.

Just because we can’t see the people we lost, it doesn’t mean that they are not there. (Click to Tweet!)

With seeing everything,


P.S. Early registration for the Life Reentry class ends on the 15th register here.

PPS. We are also registering for the practitioner training apply here.

No More Lies After Loss

‘The Life we live, is the lesson we teach
my friend Jim Kwik mentioned in one of his writings.

I read it just before I was going to sit down and write to you.

And it hit me.

The life I live. Is the lesson I teach.

Thank you Jim, for putting it so simply.

As it allowed me to come clean with myself.

And you might be wondering, what does this have to do with loss? Everything.

Really, everything.

I am doing another reentry for myself. This one will be the hardest.

Living life true to my feelings at all cost is not easy. It is one of the hardest things I will ever have to do. But I owe it to all the people who have died. To the people who wished they were still here. (Click to Tweet!)

I owe it to Bjarne. My first husband.

To my firstborn who never made it.

To my grandparents.

To personal friends who died young.

And I know, you owe it to your people too. The people you lost.

This next reentry to life will be brutally honest.

The first thing I do is ask myself this one question.

What lie do I tell myself every day?

I lie about how happy I am.

I lie about that a lot.

I am calling myself out this year.

Stopping the lies about the everyday things.

The lies about what I love to do.

Who I really am.

The lies about the foods I eat.

The things I say.

The way I think.

The people I like. And those I don’t.

How I want to be loved. Seen.

And the biggest lie of all is that there will always be a tomorrow.

As you and I know, tomorrow is not guaranteed.

Now is your turn.

What is your truth and what lie have you been telling yourself instead?

With a lot of truth,


P.S. Next Life Reentry class starts in the end of the month. Register early here.

One thing is for sure. It will be a six week journey towards the most true life reentry ever. For myself. And for the hundreds of people who are joining. No more lies after loss.

See you in class.