Meet Holly (she/they)
Grief Therapist // Facilitator // Community Builder
First, you must know, my soul is a wild one (with a special kinship to donkeys and mules). She’s sensitive and rebellious, and doesn’t do well with being told what to do. She’s very adamant about what I am here to do — my calling. And, while she’s often inquisitive and tender, she doesn’t tolerate bullshit. The ground was laid a long time ago for me to work with grief, collapse, community and justice (if you saw my natal chart you’d know). All of these are raw, often feral, and void of posturing — there’s just no room for pretending when you’re in the depths of loss, transition, conflict, and liberation work.
I’ve had my fair share of experiences that left me cracked open, shattered, groundless. Experiences I would never choose to do again, yet they’ve taught me how to tend to the depths of grief and injustice. They have left me fuller, more compassionate, alive, courageous and connected to all that is.
When I was 10 years old my older brother, Brett, died of a heroin overdose. He had long, beautiful hair, wore a snakeskin belt, and played the guitar with magic fingers. He’s someone I looked up to and loved my entire life, and then one day he was gone. Everything changed in an instant. That’s when I began my walk with grief. Though for a long time it felt less like a walk and more like a battle — a lonely battle in which I was much too small of a warrior.
A decade later, when I was 21, I experienced another life-shattering event. Something that left me forever scarred, and completely blown open. Six weeks before graduating from college, I was run over by a drunk driver who fled the scene with the help of his fraternity brothers. They lied to the paramedics about what happened, would not speak to the police, and hid the driver in a fraternity annex in the days following. While the driver was convicted of a felony, the overall lack of accountability continues to this day. In addition to the relational and emotional harm I experienced, I suffered from a traumatic brain injury which left me with over 200 stitches in my head, a broken pelvis, and crushed knee. That night the doctors couldn’t tell me if I would live. Later they told me I would never finish my college degree and never go on to get a Masters or Doctorate (proved them wrong on all counts — told you my soul is rebellious). I’m eternally grateful to my sister, Ivy, and parents who supported me as I navigated the world after this threshold experience.
Most recently, in July 2019, my sister, Ivy, died. Even as I write this (in 2022), her death feels unfathomable to me and I’m still learning to be in this world without her. She was a fiber artist and poet, weaving together materials and words into captivating pieces. She lived with chronic illness and disabilities for years, continually experiencing the predatory and dehumanizing impacts of an ableist soceity + the medical industrial complex. She’s now a mighty and beloved ancestor; I continue to tend to our relationship every day through ritual, writing, and after-death communication.
My other sorrows include a divorce and significant breakups (including with friends), an abortion, witnessing the ongoing destruction of nature and animals, and living in an unjust and domesticated civilization. All of these have pained me and changed me. None of these are mine alone; everyone has stories of loss and sorrow, some similar, some completely different. And, of course, weaved within all of this, I’ve had times of wild joy, falling in love, and feeling awe for the people and places around me.
Now, as I cultivate sustainable relationships with grief, pleasure, and the more-than-human world, I feel more liberated than ever before. As I continually commit to dismantling systems of oppression (within and outside of me), including the delusions of white supremacy and human supremacy, I feel deeply connected to truth and the communal well-being. So, I cry often while practicing reverent irreverence. I try to speak the fuck up when needed and make space to listen when appropriate.
Sharing a bit more about the shape of my soul: I’m a queer, half-donkey (just go with it) / half-woman who appreciates skillful cussing and anything turquoise. I’m in love with nature, land, animals, my human friends, community, and books (so many books). I work closely with the Goddess Hekate, as well as Hermes, Saturn, rocks, and my Ancestors. I’m the guardian of a miniature mule and miniature donkey, who, along with the land I inhabit, are my primary teachers. I’m a white-settler on the stolen, ancestral lands of the Arapaho, Ute, and Cheyenne tribes in so-called Lyons, Colorado. My blood-lineage is half Bohemian (Czech), then English, Irish, French, and German. If you’re into astrology, I’m a Capricorn sun, Aquarius rising, Gemini moon with LOTS of action in my 11th and 12th houses. On any given day you can find me painting rocks, giving offerings to the more-than-human world, connecting with my friends and animals, or writing about community, transformative justice, and love.
Holly Truhlar (she/they) is a grief therapist, group facilitator, and community organizer. She’s most known for her collaborations with politicized grief tending, collapse psychology, and soul activism. Her body of work is a remembering of what it means to be people of potency and culture. Over the last decade, she’s facilitated small and large groups (700+) using ritual, storytelling, creative processes, and Deep Democracy work. She earned a Doctorate in Law and Masters in Transpersonal Counseling Psychology, though she learns the most from her relationships with the Wild, including the land she inhabits, Ancestors, Hekate, and donkeys.