© 2016, Sheri Gaynor. “Little d.”

The coup arrived on my doorstep today—up close and personal. I received a letter from a veteran whose name will, of course, remain protected. They had attended an online therapeutic journaling workshop I offered through a veteran’s organization, which will also remain unnamed.

I’ve led two of these workshops for the organization, with hopeful plans for more this year—at least until January 20th. In these expressive arts visual journaling workshops, I worked with men and women who have served our country, many of whom now live with traumatic brain injuries (TBI) and PTSD as a result. All in service to keeping us free.

Think about that for a minute.

I have had the incredible honor of giving back in a small way to our veterans through equine and art therapy collaborations with nonprofit organizations that offer these workshops and retreats to veterans free of charge.

Many of these nonprofits, which serve our veteran community, have received funding from the federal government—the same government now being decimated by traitors to the U.S. Constitution. A wannabe dictator is desecrating the Oval Office, checked out, playing golf, and letting his billionaire boy toy run amok. The Con Man in Chief has turned Washington into his devious playground, laughing all the way to the bank, while our hardworking service members and federal workers are illegally fired from their jobs.

I digress—let’s return to why today became personal.

This morning’s email was from a U.S. veteran who had attended my online therapeutic visual journaling workshop, sponsored by a veteran’s nonprofit organization. The message was brief and to the point. To protect their anonymity, I’ll paraphrase:

"I don’t want to lose touch with you. I am at a ‘fork in the road’ (The title of the email Musk sent to government employees), and I have ‘resigned.’ Here is my personal information—please add me to your lists. I am so grateful for what you offered us."

My heart shattered. I mean, F’ing shattered.

I dropped everything and wrote back:

"You are not alone. You are supported. We are fighting with you and for you. Thank you for reaching out. Here are all the ways you can stay in touch and join my events for free. I’ll say it again—you are NOT alone. I am here for you."

You see, as a therapist, I understand how vulnerable this population is and have witnessed the devastation firsthand. PTSD and TBI are relentless tricksters, pulling the mind into distant, haunting landscapes of the past, often leading individuals down treacherous paths that impacts every aspect of their lives.

According to the 2023 National Veteran Suicide Prevention Annual Report, “as many as 24 veterans a day die on average from suicide; an additional 20 die by ‘self-injury mortality,’ otherwise known as overdose.” If you want to learn more, click the link above to read about the devastating toll war has taken on our veterans—men and women who, in addition to living with TBI and PTSD, are now being fired by an unelected immigrant billionaire whose government contracts only serve to enrich his private business.

Take that in.

When I was first invited to offer expressive arts opportunities to military personnel, I doubted anyone would sign up. I was wrong. The workshop sold out on the first day, we opened an additional session, and still, 56 people remained on the waitlist.

To say I was shocked is an understatement.

The organization that hosted this workshop generously curated and mailed supply boxes based on my recommendations. Each box contained a sketchbook, crayons, a notebook, a pen, and a couple of small swag gifts. I was told that many participants would struggle to afford even these basic materials. The total cost—excluding shipping—was about $20.00, an amount some might call an egregious waste.

It quickly became clear that the veterans in this online offering were isolated, suffering alone, and in silence. They lived in different parts of the country, and none had met one another—or me—before our Zoom call. Yet, through their visual journal pages, they expressed something deeply personal. Their creations were tender, revealing, beautiful, and raw. Their courage in sharing so honestly and vulnerably was staggering, and it took everything in me to hold it together.

When it was over, they asked for more. “Can we do this with you weekly?”

I said a prayer for these men and women and made a commitment to serve them in any way I could. We needed to find more funding.

This event led to an expressive arts, equine therapy experience for Vietnam veterans. These veterans, all men in their 70s, were the focus of the workshop. I was truly apprehensive, as I had created a guided imagery exercise that led them to paint symbols of honor and letting go, using horses as their canvas. The veterans were unaware that five beautiful horses would be waiting for them to apply their imagery. I’ve been doing this work for a long time, but standing with these men, I was deeply humbled and experiencing first-day jitters. I was concerned they might think the entire experience I had created for them was too "woo woo." Once again, I had to confront my own stereotypes.

As we stood in a circle and debriefed the artwork on the painted horses, tears fell down their cheeks. In whispered voices, with eyes lowered to the ground, many admitted they had never cried before. For some, what transpired in the process, allowed them to release feelings they had long kept frozen, feelings they had never shared with anyone. They said they were finally able to honor those who had died—some who had lost their lives in combat right beside them—while they had survived and carried the weight of guilt. They shared that this experience gave them a way to lay that pain to rest, free from shame or blame.

© 2017, Sheri Gaynor. War Horses

So, let me be clear about these so-called "executive orders," hastily written with glee and a black Sharpie, by a man who has never served anyone or anything but himself. The people who are bearing the brunt of these illegal—yes, illegal—firings and “buyout offers” are the men and women who have faithfully served our country. These are the individuals who took an oath to protect us and our Constitution, ensuring that we could live in a democracy with freedoms that are envied by people in countries where our service members were sent to fight.

And here’s the kicker, folks: many of these men and women joined seeking a better life, with opportunities for college and career advancement. Instead, they returned home facing devastating consequences, @WILL SELBER.

When I started this Substack newsletter, it was because I wanted to take a stand and leave Zucker-schmucks META land behind. I intended to create a space filled with beauty, creativity, and hope. I never expected it to turn into a platform for essays focused on current events and the difficult realities we’re facing right now.

In the end, the truth is this: this 65-year-old woman and 35-year social worker is pissed off, and I can’t look away or pretend this isn’t happening. So, I apologize to those of you who have known me and followed me for a long time. You likely expected something different from this creative cowgirl.

What I promise is this: I will find a balance between the two because the truth is that life is full of dualities.

In between standing up to power, we must also continue to see beauty, take time for self-care, and experience joy in whatever ways we can. For me, those moments mostly happen in nature—sitting by the frozen river with my dog, watching the geese, or shoveling frozen S**T in my horse’s paddock. It’s a daily meditation, cowgirl CrossFit, with my mare by my side, impatiently waiting for her dinner.

© 2025 Sheri Gaynor, DreamWeaver Sunday.

I’ve decided that after this writing, the political content will primarily be kept in the NOTES section. It will be more like FB or IG posts. I’m not ready to join Bluesky, as my intention is to consolidate my energy and time. I’ve been happily creating and offering free content for a long time on my social media pages and YouTube channel, and for those who don’t do this kind of work for a living, there’s a lot that happens behind the scenes that I never talk about.

I’m a one-woman band, wearing all the hats. It’s a lot to juggle, and I’m ready to drop a few plates.

I’m still trying to figure out Substack, and there’s a bit of a learning curve, so please bear with me as I navigate this new platform and explore what I’ll offer here. On the horizon, there will be more creative process videos, new podcasts, and a weekly prompt to support you in moving your energy and feelings up, out, and through. Yet, it seems I also need a place to process my own grief and anger. I understand if you didn’t sign up for that and feel the need to find greener or more colorful pastures.

That’s why I love this space so much—I can log on, drop into the rabbit hole, and stumble upon a poem, a piece of writing, or an artist whose work transports me to another space and time, even if only for a moment.

We need creative process and expression more than ever.

Right now, my heart is filled with hope, as five incredible mentees step into my training program. They will carry the torch forward, bringing creative expression to their communities…and beyond. These mentees will discover that art and creativity matter. They will learn that art has the power to transform lives and ultimately heal body, mind, soul, and spirit.

Thank you for reading this long missive. Today, it was personal.