 Hello Earth citizens. My name is Courtney and I'm a brain education instructor in Boston, feeling slightly vulnerable today as I'd like to share with you a little more about my life and my healing story of finding and practicing brain education. There's a lot we still don't know about the brain, but I found in some ways we can compare it to a computer. We install the software, input the programs and depending on the nature of those programs, the way we experience life can be very different. Whether we're conscious or not, we are constantly informing ourselves of our reality. And in my case, I spent many years programming my brain with negative information, like I'm bad, I'm wrong, I'm ugly, I can't, I won't, I shouldn't. These programs greatly inhibited my ability to live my life with joy. I put a lot of effort into reinforcing self-limiting beliefs about myself, beating myself up with negative self-talk. I even had multiple journals with lists of reasons why I should hate myself. So a big part of my story includes the awareness of, unraveling of and undoing of that and the healing and reprogramming I've had to do to get myself mentally where I am today. In fact, the reason I know brain education works is because I did it already, just in the opposite direction. Instead of creating a positive, productive and healthy relationship with myself, I used my brain's programming to hate and hurt myself. And I got so deep in it that there were points I thought I would never get out. And I even considered taking my own life. I really sabotaged the full potential of my brain. I don't remember much from my younger years. And I learned later that people with anxiety tend not to have a good memory because we're never fully present. When you live with an anxiety disorder, you tend to live in the future, worrying about the next thing. And if you're not mentally present, and when you're running your own negative commentary when other things are happening, it becomes pretty difficult to remember things accurately. But from an outside perspective, you could say, I had a great childhood. I had two very caring parents. I had a roof over my head and I never had to worry where my next meal was coming from. In fact, having a privileged upbringing often made me feel like I didn't deserve to be depressed. And I added that to my long list of evidence of why I was bad and wrong. I taught my brain to always look for and gather evidence towards my case of self-hatred. By 14, I had a therapist and over the next few years endured a variety of psychological testing and a myriad of antidepressants that sometimes left me feeling catatonic. But besides being diagnosed with chronic depression and an anxiety disorder, they couldn't find anything wrong with me. And so I spent most of my life feeling deeply misunderstood with the feeling that no one could help me, that I was unfixable. I was sensitive, very sensitive. So even the slightest criticism or feedback shook my entire system to my core. Even silly things that seem to roll right off the other kids like being told to be quiet. I remember getting feedback in two contradicting ways growing up. I was either too bossy or too quiet. I hated being called bossy. So as I grew older, every time the bossy girl came out, I shushed her, shamed her, added that to my list. And in doing so, I really killed the fun part of myself for a long time. To add insult to injury as I got older, being quiet was often interpreted as being arrogant. And I remember wanting to scream out to the world, how can I be arrogant when I hate myself so much? One of my first memories was being held back in the first grade. I remember sitting in the room with my teacher and my parents. And I don't remember any of the words that were said, but I do remember that feeling. At first, I was confused. Was I the only one? What did I do wrong? All my friends are moving on without me. I felt singled out. I felt very alone. I felt flooded with shame. And not only did this turn into a fear of being publicly shamed, but this was the formation of the belief that I was stupid. And in the years to come, I would firmly reinforce that belief. It became one of my strongest preconceptions about myself. And it cripplingly narrowed down the career choices I allowed myself to look at. I made a lot of rules in an effort to stay controlled, to not embarrass myself, and to stay under the radar to be invisible. These were also documented in journals, further reinforcing what I was allowed to do and not allowed to do. And my world was just getting smaller and smaller. Emotions were not okay, even happy ones. But the more I tried to suppress them, the more sensitive I became. And much to my chagrin, I would cry easily. My own plan backfiring in my face. I can see in retrospect why I was drawn to acting. It was a place where emotions were okay. They weren't my emotions, but I got to express them nonetheless. Acting also gave me a certain level of comfort because a character in a play has a script. I didn't have to figure out what to do or what to say or how to feel. It was right there on a sheet of paper in front of me. Everything I needed to know. Because I certainly didn't know myself. Anytime I saw a piece of myself, I quickly put myself down. I always felt different from the other kids at school. I was bullied in church school. I was called weird. I was a bit of an outcast. There was no archetype or clique I fit into. I definitely wasn't the girly girl, but I wasn't quite the tomboy. I wasn't the nerd. And despite my throws at acting, I wasn't part of the theater crew either. I leaned towards art, but I destroyed most of what I created, and I didn't seem to make friends there either. I truly didn't understand how everyone seemed to be so okay, and I was not. When it came time to pick a college, art school seemed like the most possible. And considering my struggle in high school, the thought of a fraternity environment was out of the question. So I picked an art school in an entirely different part of the world, Scotland. My parents were born and raised there, and the rest of my extended family was still there. From the outside, it appeared to be perfect. A fresh start and the chance to be a new person. Only in retrospect did I learn that wherever you go, there you are. I love Scotland. It is my favorite place in the world, and I got to travel a lot around Western Europe while I was there. But over time, it too felt like another place. I didn't fit into it. My mental health kept declining, and my ability to function in society was getting more and more challenged, with most of my fears being centered around social interactions and people. After moving back from Scotland, I diverted away from art and towards animals, perhaps because animals judge a lot less than people do. I worked for a few dog walking companies, ended up making a decent business for myself, and aside from dealing with the occasional dog disagreement, there were many days I didn't have to interact with people at all. Finally, I thought I hit it big by being hired by a multi-million dollar startup of a doggie spa resort. I was in on the ground floor. I had a partner at the time who was very supportive and a caretaker of my mental health, and everything was okay, until it wasn't. Something happened, and it was this straw that broke the camel's back. My brain went into shock, and I needed the world to stop. So I ended up admitting myself to a day program at McLean Hospital in 2011. It was helpful. They taught me CBT, but obviously it wasn't the solution to all my problems, and I already had a decade of therapy under my belt at the time. After the program, somebody I connected with there invited me to a meet-up group and over-breathing and meditation, which turned out to be a brain education class. I really resisted going, but I was determined to give life a shot without medication, and I knew that that would mean I would have to supplement it with something else. So I begrudgingly agreed. I drove 40 minutes to this class. I had no idea what to expect, but I was sure I was going to do everything wrong and embarrass myself, and I remember being told to smile in the class. And what about, I cynically thought, but what was worse, at the end of the class, we were invited to say, I love you, to ourselves. No way. It goes against everything I believe in, everything I've been working so hard to reinforce that I'm not a good person, that I'm definitely not allowed to love myself. So I wouldn't, and I couldn't say it. Honestly, I really didn't like the classes at first. Physically, it was fine, but mentally, it was very, very challenging, and the whole process was very vulnerable and raw for me. But there must have been something that attracted me because I drove 40 minutes almost every week for about a year, until the instructor, who I would later call my yoga mom, encouraged me to sign up at the location closer to me in Brooklyn. And when I still dragged my heels to go, she drove all the way out to Brooklyn to take that first class with me. And this was just one example of the extent of the whole, the depression and anxiety had on me. I was soon drawn to our retreat out in Sedona, where I experienced a multitude of things over the course of one weekend. I went from feeling the depths of extreme pain, sadness, and fear that had been suppressed and tucked away in my heart to feelings of absolute freedom, peace, and for the first time, contentment. It was like, am I okay? For the first time, like ever, I think I'm okay. After that, I started to have awakenings frequently that helped me gain a perspective that I'd never had before. I felt my true self and existence beyond the small world of persecution I'd created for myself. And it was vast and mystical. And I often didn't understand it, but it came with a great feeling of comfort, of relief. I could really breathe for the first time. However, those awakenings would come hand in hand with waves of emotions and feelings. And I would learn later that those were signs of healing, a lifetime of being overwhelmed by feelings, by other people's feelings about my own. Later, I discovered I'm very empathic. And I had spent a good amount of time numbing myself. I'd been holding on to so much with no way to process it. So I suppressed whatever I couldn't deal with. And as I practiced, all those feelings started to come out in a big way. I began to be able to identify all the self-limiting beliefs and negative thinking patterns in my head. And I got the opportunity to decide whether I wanted to keep them or not. All the tears I had suppressed, the feelings of despair, it was like somebody stirred up a lake with a giant ladle and the stagnant dirt and the sediment from the bottom surfaced and clouded the water. My first few years of practicing yoga were difficult, arduous and intense, mixed with feelings of peace, presence, and most importantly, hope. And it wasn't just the realization of my true self that helped me heal from depression, but the realization of my purpose. And now I believe if we don't feel purpose or meaning, we can't help but feel depressed. The study of brain education and the process of self-realization was showing me that I was in control of my own life. Previously, I was living, waiting for others to tell me what was wrong with me, waiting for someone or something to fix me. So it wasn't I surprised that the person who had to save me was me. My brain was going through the five steps of brain education. I was sensitizing and feeling my body for the first time, and there was a lot to feel. I was versatileizing and becoming more flexible with all the negative rules I created for myself. I was refreshing, releasing years of resentments, pain and sadness, all of which gave me this space to feel something different, to integrate. And now I still live with it, but I master it. It wasn't an easy process, but you might be able to sense why I wanted to stick around. While I didn't start off envisioning myself a brain education instructor, it shifted my entire inner world. And I thought, if I can climb out of this dark, bottomless pit, I thought I could never leave. Can I help others to do the same? And an even scarier thought, can other people benefit from hearing my story, my struggle, and know that there's hope? And it's in your own brain. You already have everything you need. It's in the process of self-realization, although it really helps to have a guide, a teacher and mentorship, because especially if we struggle with mental health, sometimes we need someone to remind us what is real and what is not. But the essence of brain education to me is uncovering the human technology that lives inside of all of us. It's awakening to and learning how to utilize the full potential of your brain. It's a way to take back your power that you gave away to others, or in my case, that I took away from myself. And it's the knowing that you are in charge of your own life. So while I'm not going to tell you that it's easy, because healing is not for the faint of heart. It takes a lot of courage. Plus, if you can relate to my story, you may also have a lot of refreshing to do, a lot of cleaning out of old thinking patterns and self-limiting beliefs. Although they may seemingly be set in stone, they are not. No matter where you're starting from, no matter your background, it takes grit, persistence, consistent training, but it is possible. And by doing it, you may not only save yourself, you may even inspire those around you that they can do it too. This last thing I want to say is, if you don't know your purpose yet in life, you can borrow this one. Love yourself. Use everything that happens to you in life, every obstacle, every conflict. Use it to practice truly loving yourself. And with that, Earth Citizens, I am honored and humbled to have shared my story with you. If it resonates, please leave your comments below or perhaps even pop a hopeful message there for the next person to see. We'll also drop a link to my personal channel. And if you'd like to experience a full one-hour brain education, find a body and brain center near you.