FAMILY OF ORIGIN • May 19, 2026

Last reviewed: June 2026 by Annie Wright, LMFT

The email arrived quietly, nestled between a Q3 board deck and her daughter’s school newsletter. Katherine saw the subject line, “Annual Family Reunion. Save the Date!” and a familiar tightening started in her chest. It wasn’t a sudden jolt. It was a slow, creeping dread that settled somewhere under her ribs and stayed there. She knew, instinctively, that this wasn’t just another calendar event. It was a reckoning, and part of her had been waiting for it since last August.

In short: Deciding whether to attend a family reunion when there is family-of-origin trauma is a clinical safety assessment, not a social obligation, and your nervous system’s dread response is meaningful data.

The Invitation Sat in Her Inbox for Six Weeks

For six weeks, Katherine left the attachment unopened. She’s 44, a VP of product at a mid-size fintech company, the kind of woman whose calendar is color-coded and whose Slack status says in deep work, back at 2. She’d scroll past the email in bed, thumb hovering, and close her phone screen without opening it. The knot in her stomach formed the same way each time, low and specific, like muscle memory. It was a Tuesday in April, 9:40 in the evening, when she finally opened it, sitting cross-legged on her closet floor because that’s where she goes when she needs five private minutes in a house with two kids and a husband who asks too many questions at the wrong moments.

“I don’t even know why my body does this,” she told me two weeks later, turning her water bottle in slow circles on the table between us. “I ran a board meeting Monday with forty people on the line and I didn’t break a sweat. Then I read the words family reunion and I felt like I was nine years old again, waiting to see whose turn it was to be the problem.”

Sitting with Katherine that afternoon, I felt the specific mix I’ve come to recognize in driven women describing their families of origin: precision about everything except themselves. She could tell me her cousin’s flight numbers, the exact seating chart from four reunions ago, the anniversary of the fight that split two branches of the family in 2019. She could not, at first, tell me what she felt in her own chest when she pictured walking into that backyard again.

What I was watching, underneath the calendar-blocking and the seating-chart recall, was a nervous system doing exactly what it was built to do: scanning old terrain for old danger, long before Katherine’s thinking brain had cast a vote. The reunion was never just a gathering for her. It was a return to a script she’d spent two decades trying to rewrite, one line at a time, mostly without an audience. Her body, it turned out, still remembered every line, even on the Tuesdays when her conscious mind insisted it had moved on.

This kind of visceral reaction is common in driven women who’ve come up through complicated family systems. It isn’t ingratitude or drama. It’s a genuine physiological response, a signal from a nervous system that learned long ago exactly which rooms were safe. Your body often knows the truth before your mind admits it, and that gap is usually where the suffering lives. It’s proof of how durable early relational patterns are, decades after the conditions that built them. Staying yourself in a room full of people who helped write your first draft of self is some of the hardest relational work there is.

What Is the Family Reunion Decision, Clinically?

Clinically, deciding whether to attend a family reunion isn’t a simple social choice. It’s a layered assessment of psychological safety and emotional cost, done under real time pressure, usually with a partner or sibling waiting on your answer. For someone carrying family-of-origin trauma, these events can reactivate old wounds and trigger fight, flight, or freeze responses that have nothing to do with the actual weather forecast for that Saturday in July. What looks, from the outside, like a scheduling question is, on the inside, an attempt to manage an internal state under real external pressure.

The decision to attend or skip a family reunion becomes a real act of self-preservation. It asks for a clear read on your own nervous system and a willingness to put your well-being above external expectation, at least for the length of one Saturday. That’s not selfishness. It’s a necessary boundary for anyone doing active healing work. Your capacity for genuine connection is tied directly to your sense of safety and internal regulation. When your nervous system reads a room as threatening, real connection becomes almost impossible, and survival responses take over instead, whatever your intentions were walking in.

These events often force a confrontation with the gap between the family you have and the family you wished you’d had. That gap can be a real source of grief, even though no one has died. The clinical task isn’t to talk yourself out of the grief. It’s to acknowledge it and still make choices that honor your actual life, instead of chasing an idealized version of family harmony that was never quite available to you. Your family may not be able to give you the emotional safety you need. That’s a hard sentence to sit with, and it’s also, often, simply true. The job of providing that safety for yourself doesn’t disappear because someone else failed to do it first.

Reading Your Nervous System as a Decision-Support Tool

Your body provides real data when you’re considering a family reunion. Stephen W. Porges, PhD, originator of polyvagal theory, explains how the nervous system constantly assesses cues of safety and danger below conscious awareness, a process he named neuroception. If your body tenses, your breath shallows, or you feel a sudden urge to leave the room, that’s neuroception signaling a threat, not just anxiety to dismiss.

I keep coming back to Bessel van der Kolk, MD, a leading trauma researcher and the author of The Body Keeps the Score, and his insistence that the body itself stores trauma memory, not just the mind. In my own practice, that idea changes how I ask clients to weigh a reunion invitation. Those somatic markers aren’t just feelings to talk yourself out of. They’re physiological reports you can actually use. Listening to them means trusting your body as a real source of information about which environments are safe for you right now, not which ones were supposed to be safe once. It’s not overthinking. It’s embodied knowing, and it often arrives well before your conscious mind has finished composing its excuse for going anyway.

I read Peter A. Levine, PhD, developer of Somatic Experiencing®, years into my own training, and the idea that stuck with me hardest was his insistence on completing physiological responses. If you attend an event that activates your nervous system, your body needs time and room afterward to discharge that activation, the way a startled deer needs to shake and run before it can go back to grazing. The recovery time required after a family event is a real factor in deciding whether to go in the first place, not an afterthought you deal with once you’re already exhausted. It’s not just the four hours at the picnic table. It’s the two days afterward when you can’t quite locate your own energy. Your nervous system has a finite capacity, and going over that capacity leads to dysregulation and depletion you’ll be managing for days. Ignoring these signals is a little like ignoring your car’s check-engine light because you’re already late. Eventually, something gives out on the side of the road instead of in the driveway, where it would have been easier to handle.

Knowing your polyvagal state before, during, and after the event matters. Are you in a ventral vagal state of social engagement, feeling safe and connected? Or is your sympathetic nervous system activated, signaling fight or flight? Maybe you’re in dorsal vagal shutdown, the numbness and fatigue that shows up when there’s simply too much to process in real time. Recognizing these states lets you make informed choices about your participation and your self-care instead of finding out only in hindsight. This kind of self-awareness is a cornerstone of trauma recovery. It helps you respond on purpose instead of reacting out of old habit.

How Driven Women Face the Family Reunion Dilemma

driven women often face a particular version of this dilemma. Their external lives can look enviable, full of achievement and forward motion. Internally, they’re carrying the weight of family dynamics that never resolved, just went quiet for a while. The pressure to look like a woman who has it handled makes it harder, not easier, to admit that one email about a backyard barbecue can undo a week of sleep.

In my work with clients, I consistently see how driven women intellectualize their emotional responses before they’ll let themselves feel them. They rationalize the discomfort away, telling themselves they should go because it’s just family. That bypass costs them. It routes around the body’s wisdom entirely, and the bill comes due later as stress and depletion they can’t quite trace back to its source. It’s a pattern of ranking external expectation above internal truth, and for most of the women I see, the pattern started long before their first job offer.

Six weeks after that Tuesday on her closet floor, Katherine came in with her laptop still open on the seat beside her, a habit she hadn’t broken since her last board meeting. “I keep doing the thing where I make it a logistics problem,” she said. “Flights, hotel versus my aunt’s guest room, how many days I can actually be away from work. If I can solve the logistics, I don’t have to answer the actual question, which is whether I can survive three days in that yard without turning back into the kid who apologized for everything.” She laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh that meant something was funny.

The dilemma isn’t only about avoiding discomfort. It’s about protecting hard-won ground. Many of the women I work with have invested real time and real money in therapy, healing old wounds and building relational patterns that finally work. A dysregulating family reunion can feel like a setback, a real threat to progress that took years to earn. That’s not an exaggeration. A nervous system under threat doesn’t distinguish cleanly between past danger and present danger, which is exactly why a woman who runs a division of forty people can find herself rehearsing an apology to her mother in the car on the way there.

Underneath Katherine’s logistics spreadsheet was a deeper sense of obligation, the belief that she owed her presence to a family system that had rarely offered her safety in return. That belief usually traces back to childhood, to a home where a child’s needs came second to the appearance of family harmony. Breaking that pattern takes real courage and a deliberate, ongoing commitment to self-protection. It means questioning inherited ideas about loyalty and obligation, and building, in their place, a working loyalty to her own well-being. For most women, that shift is the hardest part of the whole process, and also the part that changes everything downstream of it.

The Four-Part Decision Framework

Making a clear decision about attending a family reunion takes a structured approach, not just willpower or good intentions. I recently reread Karl Pillemer, PhD, a professor of human development at Cornell University and the author of Fault Lines: Fractured Families and How to Mend Them, and the line that stopped me was his description of estrangement as a problem “hiding in plain sight” [1]. Pillemer’s research, built from a survey of more than 1,300 people, found that roughly 27% of the U.S. population experiences active family estrangement at some point [2]. When Katherine first told me she felt like the only person in her extended family who couldn’t just show up and get through it, I told her that number. She was quiet for a second. Then she said, “So I’m not the broken one. I’m just the one who admits it.”

Here’s a four-part clinical framework to guide your decision-making process:

1. Nervous System Pre-Assessment: Listening to Your Body’s Wisdom

Before you consider logistics at all, check in with your body. What are the actual physical sensations when you think about the reunion? A knot in your stomach, shallow breathing, a general sense of dread that arrives before you can name a reason for it? These aren’t just “anxiety” to be managed away. They’re your nervous system’s assessment of the environment, delivered before your thinking brain has weighed in. Trust these signals as valid data. Your body is a sophisticated threat-detection system, and its first read is often more accurate than your rational mind’s attempts to talk it down. This pre-cognitive assessment, or neuroception, is your body’s way of flagging potential danger or safety, and it’s worth learning to read it the way you’d read any other instrument panel.

Your body is telling you something specific about the likely impact of this event on your regulation. Ignore these signals and the cost shows up later, usually bigger than it needed to be. This pre-assessment is your first line of defense, the piece that tells you the emotional terrain you’re actually walking into, not the one you’re hoping for. It’s about honoring what your body already knows and treating your physiological responses as legitimate reports from the inside. This isn’t oversensitivity. It’s being attuned to your own internal compass instead of somebody else’s map.

Consider the specific cues that set you off. Is it a particular family member’s voice on the phone? The smell of your childhood kitchen? The dynamic of one specific gathering versus another? Naming these triggers ahead of time lets you anticipate them, sometimes plan around them, and sometimes conclude clearly that avoidance is the most protective move available. Doing this work in advance hands you back some agency over your own well-being, instead of leaving you to find out in real time, standing in a driveway, what your body was trying to tell you weeks ago.

2. Somatic Body-Data Reading: Deciphering Your History

Beyond the initial pre-assessment, look at your historical responses to similar family events. How has your body reacted in the past? Headaches, stomach trouble, a fatigue that outlasts the drive home by three days? These aren’t coincidences. They’re patterns, your body keeping a record of stress the way a ledger keeps a record of transactions. Peter A. Levine’s work on Somatic Experiencing taught me that the body remembers what the mind sometimes talks itself out of. These memories resurface as physical sensation whenever a similar context shows up again, a process researchers call implicit memory, where the body remembers even when the conscious mind insists it’s fine.

This kind of body-data reading gets you out of intellectualizing the decision and into something more reliable. It grounds your choice in tangible, physiological evidence of what these interactions actually cost you, not what they’re supposed to cost you on paper. Your body’s history is a strong predictor of its future response in a similar setting. If past reunions have reliably left you depleted, sick, or emotionally underwater, that’s real information for the decision in front of you now. This isn’t dwelling on the past. It’s learning from a data set you already own. That lived evidence outweighs any external pressure or any idealized story about what family is supposed to feel like.

Ask yourself directly: what shows up in my body when I recall past family gatherings? A familiar tightness across the shoulders, a clenched jaw, a kind of emotional static that feels like numbness? These somatic echoes aren’t random. They’re your body’s way of reporting what those past experiences actually cost you. Taking these signals seriously is a real act of self-respect, one that lets you trust your own account of your life even when someone else in the family tells a different version of the same events.

Katherine did this exercise out loud in session, running through the last three reunions one at a time. By the third one, she wasn’t reciting logistics anymore. She was describing the specific tightness across her shoulders at her cousin’s wedding reception two summers ago, the exact moment her jaw had locked when her mother introduced her, again, as “the one who’s always so busy.” She’d known, instinctively, sitting in that reception hall, that this wasn’t just another family event. It was a reckoning her body had been keeping score of for years, long before her mind agreed to look at the tally.

3. Cost-Benefit Analysis (Including Recovery Time): The True Price of Attendance

A true cost-benefit analysis for a family reunion has to extend past the event itself. What’s the emotional, physical, and psychological cost of attending, start to finish? That includes not just the discomfort during the gathering but the recovery time afterward. How many days before you feel regulated again? Will it touch your work, your marriage, your ability to take care of yourself and the people who depend on you? Stephen W. Porges’s concept of an autonomic budget is exactly the frame I use with clients here. Your nervous system has a finite capacity for activation before it tips into sympathetic overdrive or dorsal vagal shutdown [3]. Every forced smile, every swallowed comment, every performance of fine draws down that same limited account.

Many driven women skip past the recovery period entirely, treating it as an unfortunate side effect rather than a real cost to weigh up front. Factoring in recovery time is part of an honest, whole-picture assessment, not an indulgence. If the recovery cost outweighs any real benefit, that’s a clear signal worth taking seriously. Your time and your energy are finite. Spending them with intention is a form of self-respect, not selfishness. It’s sustainable management of a limited resource, the same resource you need for your actual daily life and the relationships you’ve chosen on purpose.

Think through the ripple effects of post-reunion depletion. Will it touch your ability to be present with your kids that week, your output at work, your capacity for the things that actually restore you? The true cost isn’t the six hours at the picnic table. It’s the days, sometimes the full week, of recovery that follow. This is the math Laura eventually ran for herself, and it’s the math that gave her permission to say no out loud instead of just resenting the invitation in silence.

4. Post-Event Re-Regulation Plan as a Prerequisite: Preparing for the Aftermath

If you decide to go, a solid post-event re-regulation plan isn’t optional. It’s a prerequisite, built before the trip, not improvised after it. This plan should name the specific, intentional steps you’ll take to bring your nervous system back to baseline. Scheduled alone time. A grounding practice you already know works for you. A call with a friend who actually gets it. Sometimes an entire decompression day with nothing on the calendar. Think of it as a clinical protocol for recovery, the deliberate work of restoring your own equilibrium instead of hoping it restores itself.

A woman with no post-event plan hasn’t actually finished making her decision. She’s made half of one. A plan means you’re not just surviving the event, you’re actively supporting your nervous system’s return to regulation afterward, on purpose. That’s what self-respect looks like when it’s actually lived, not just claimed. It turns a potentially dysregulating weekend into something you still have agency inside of, instead of something that happens to you.

Your re-regulation plan might include time outdoors, a creative project you can lose yourself in, journaling, or a therapy session booked for the Monday right after. The key is intention. Don’t leave your own recovery to chance. Build it into the decision itself, before you say yes. That’s a concrete way of saying your internal peace isn’t negotiable, and that you’re willing to defend it in advance.

Both/And: You Can Love Your Family and Not Attend Their Events

Laura is 40, a creative director at a mid-size agency, and she was standing in her kitchen at 6:15 on a Sunday evening, the reunion invitation propped against a bag of coffee beans on the counter, when she first said out loud what she’d been circling for a month. “I think I’m not going,” she told me two days later, turning her mug in a slow half-circle on the table between us instead of drinking from it. “And I need you to tell me that doesn’t make me a bad daughter.”

Her parents, both what she called “high-functioning drinkers, if you’re being polite about it,” would be there, along with a wide circle of relatives who still treated her like the quiet, anxious kid she’d been at twelve. “I love them,” she said. “That’s the part nobody wants to hear. I’m not estranged. I just know exactly what three days in that house costs me, and I’ve started keeping the receipt.” She told me about the reunion two years earlier, the one where her cousins spent an hour debating a golf handicap while her aunt asked, in front of everyone, why she still wasn’t married. “I laughed it off. I always laugh it off. Then I cried in a Marriott bathroom for twenty minutes and told my husband I was on a work call.”

Sitting across from Laura that afternoon, I felt the particular ache I recognize in driven women who aren’t estranged, who aren’t in crisis, who are simply exhausted by a math problem nobody else in the family seems to be doing. She wasn’t asking permission to hate her parents. She was asking permission to tell the truth about the cost without it meaning she’d failed at being a daughter.

What I told Laura, and what I’ve come to think of as the accounting-not-abandonment reframe, is that noticing a cost isn’t the same as walking away from the relationship. She could love her parents, could call her mother every Sunday, could send the birthday cards, and still decide that a three-day reunion with a four-day recovery tax wasn’t a price she owed anyone. She left that session without a final answer. Two weeks later she sent me a one-line message: skipping it, sending a card, feels strange and also like breathing.

Laura’s situation is the clearest version of the Both/And framework I know: holding two truths that look contradictory but aren’t. You can genuinely love your family, keep certain memories close, and still recognize that a specific gathering, or the pattern that shows up inside it, costs more than it gives back. This isn’t either/or. It’s a layered read of a real relationship, one where your love doesn’t obligate you to spend your peace to prove it. This framework makes room for a more honest, more accurate account of family dynamics, past the simple story that showing up always equals love.

The pressure to attend family events runs deep in most of us, and it rarely announces itself as pressure. It just feels like the obvious, unquestioned thing. We’re taught that family comes first, that showing up is the proof of respect and love. But for driven women healing from family-of-origin trauma, real self-respect sometimes means a choice that protects the nervous system, even one other people won’t understand. That’s not coldness. It’s a form of self-advocacy that takes real nerve, especially the first time you exercise it out loud, at a holiday table, in front of the people who are used to a different answer from you.

It matters to separate love from obligation here. You can hold real love for family members while also naming, clearly, that their current patterns aren’t safe or nourishing for you right now. That distinction lets you choose based on your present needs and your actual boundaries, not on inherited conditioning or someone else’s expectations of you. This isn’t about cutting anyone off. It’s about choosing, on purpose, where your limited emotional energy goes. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do, for yourself and eventually for the relationship, is protect enough space to actually want to be in the room next time.

The Systemic Lens: Why Family Reunion Attendance Is Treated as Non-Optional

Zoom out from any one family, and you’ll find that reunions are rarely treated as optional. They’re embedded in a wider cultural script about loyalty, tradition, and belonging, one that predates any single person’s actual relationship with any single relative. The expectation to attend can feel enormous, reinforced by older relatives, by group texts, by the general cultural hum that says a good daughter shows up. This pressure isn’t accidental. It works to hold existing family structures in place, often at the direct expense of the individual inside them. These gatherings function, whether anyone names it out loud or not, as a way of reinforcing old roles and old power arrangements, which is exactly why it’s so hard for someone who has genuinely changed to be seen as anything other than who she was at sixteen.

The unspoken rule is that you show up regardless of personal cost. That expectation lands especially hard on women, who are socialized early to be the caretakers and peacekeepers inside a family system. Decline an invitation, and it can register as a personal affront, a rejection of the family itself, rather than what it usually actually is: a boundary drawn for self-preservation. It’s a quiet form of control, often dressed up in the language of family values or tradition. That conditioning is exactly why prioritizing your own care can feel so disproportionately difficult, loaded with guilt that doesn’t match the size of the actual request.

This systemic pressure can stir up old guilt and shame, especially for women who’ve worked hard to interrupt dysfunctional patterns. The unspoken message is that if you really loved your family, you’d simply tolerate the discomfort. That message quietly tells you your own experience matters less than the appearance of harmony. It’s a message that can chip away at years of therapeutic progress if you let it go unexamined. Naming the systemic piece helps take this out of the territory of personal failing. This isn’t about you being difficult. It’s a larger cultural pattern operating on you, mostly without your consent, and often without anyone questioning it out loud.

Family reunions can also become a stage for performing family unity, particularly in families that prize a collective, unified image over any individual’s actual experience. That performance suppresses authenticity and expects everyone to keep playing their assigned part. Once you can see the performance for what it is, you can approach these events with a more clear-eyed, self-protective stance. Often the pressure to attend has less to do with genuine connection than with maintaining an appearance for an audience, even when the audience is mostly the family itself.

The concept of enmeshment is directly relevant here. In enmeshed family systems, boundaries blur and individual identity gets absorbed into the collective. Family reunions, built around togetherness and shared history, can reinforce those enmeshed patterns without anyone intending it, which makes it genuinely hard for someone to claim her own autonomy without it feeling, physically, like betrayal. Laura’s family called it closeness. She eventually called it something closer to erasure, and both descriptions were true at once. Understanding enmeshment matters here, because once you can name the system you grew up in, you stop mistaking its rules for universal truth.

Making the Decision and Building the Recovery Plan

Once you’ve run the decision framework, the next step is to make your choice concrete, and, if you’re attending, to build a real recovery plan around it. If you decide not to go, practice communication that’s kind but not over-explained. You don’t owe anyone a detailed account of your trauma history to justify a no. A simple, steady “I won’t be able to make it this year” is usually enough. Expect some pushback, and decide in advance how you’ll respond to it, or whether you’ll respond at all. That might mean a couple of prepared phrases in your back pocket, or a firm decision not to get pulled into a long defense of a decision that was never up for debate. Your peace doesn’t require anyone’s sign-off.

If you choose to attend, your recovery plan is the part that actually protects you. That’s not pessimism. It’s planning. Schedule real breaks. Identify one or two safe people at the event. Know your exit line before you need it. Protect your sleep, your food, and your grounding practices before, during, and after the reunion, the way you’d protect any other limited resource you couldn’t easily replace. This kind of preparation is the clinical term dressed down: it’s what therapists call resourcing, and in plain terms, it just means lining up your supports before you need them, not scrambling for them mid-crisis in a bathroom at your aunt’s house.

Clinically, this is called anticipatory regulation: preparing the nervous system for a known stressor before it arrives. In kitchen-table terms, it’s packing a go-bag before a storm instead of hunting for flashlights once the power’s out. On the actual holiday weekend, it looks like this: you’ve already told your sister you’re leaving by 3pm, you’ve got a hotel room instead of the guest room, you already know which cousin you’ll seek out if the room gets loud. None of that is dramatic. It’s the difference between managing your Tuesday-after and losing it entirely.

Making a choice that honors your well-being is real, unglamorous work. It’s proof of the growth you’ve already done and of your ongoing commitment to not repeating the patterns you inherited. Whether you go or you don’t, the goal is a decision you can actually live with, one that leaves you steadier, not one that just resolves the calendar conflict. You’re not the only one weighing this. Plenty of driven women are quietly doing this same math every spring, torn between love and depletion, deciding case by case what they owe and what they don’t.

Consider also what I call micro-boundaries during the event itself. These are small, low-drama ways to protect your energy without staging a confrontation. Step outside for a walk. Choose one-on-one conversations over the big group dynamic. Limit your time in whichever room tends to be the most activating. Every one of these small moves adds up. Micro-boundaries aren’t about being difficult. They’re about taking responsibility for your own nervous system in real time, which is its own quiet form of self-care.

Katherine ended up going, with a plan she’d built herself: two nights instead of four, her own rental car so she could leave on her own schedule, a standing Sunday-night call booked with a friend for the drive home. Laura sent a card, skipped the reunion, and called her mother that same weekend instead, on her own terms, from her own kitchen. Neither decision was the objectively correct one. Both were decisions their bodies could actually live inside. That’s the real measure. Not whether you go, but whether the choice, once made, lets you exhale.

You’re not alone in working through these family decisions. Plenty of driven women find themselves weighing something similar, trying to honor their own healing while still managing what everyone else expects of them. Keep trusting what your body tells you. It’s usually more accurate than the story you’ve been told about what a good daughter does. If you’re looking for more support with this kind of work, consider therapy with Annie or her free quiz to better understand your own patterns.

Related Reading and PubMed Citations

• Pillemer, Karl. Fault Lines: Fractured Families and How to Mend Them. New York: Avery, 2020.
• van der Kolk, Bessel. The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. New York: Viking, 2014.
• Porges, Stephen W. The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-Regulation. New York: W. W. Norton, 2011.
• Levine, Peter A. In an Unspoken Voice: How the Body Releases Trauma and Restores Goodness. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2010.
• Wright, Annie. “What Is Enmeshment?” AnnieWright.com. https://anniewright.com/what-is-enmeshment/

References

Peer-Reviewed Research (Vancouver)

1. van der Kolk BA, Stone L, West J, Rhodes A, Emerson D, Suvak M, Spinazzola J. Yoga as an adjunctive treatment for PTSD: a randomized controlled trial. J Clin Psychiatry. 2014;75(6):e559-65. doi:10.4088/JCP.13m08561. PMID: 25004196.

Books & Cultural Sources (Chicago Author-Date)

• Oliver, Mary. Devotions. Little, Brown Book Group Limited, 2017.

Medical Disclaimer