Are you biting your own tail?
Newsletter No. 22 - July 6, 2026
It's been way too long since my last post. So let's skip the apologies and jump straight into what's been happening.
The last few months have belonged to US Skyrunning. In early May, we brought a small group of incredible athletes to Croatia for the Youth World Skyrunning Championships. Then, just last week, we were in Crowsnest Pass, in Southern Alberta, Canada, for the Youth North and Central American Skyrunning Championships.
Somewhere in the middle of all that travel and logistics, Ryan and I also adopted a puppy from the local restaurant.
Her name is Uma, and she is exactly what you'd expect from a mountain wild child — chaos and love in equal measure, keeping the whole household on its toes.
Speaking of dogs, this brings me to what I actually want to talk about today.
A few days before we left for Canada, I woke up to find the end of Harlow's tail chewed off. I panicked, did what I could — called the dog sitter, gave instructions, and left anyway, stomach in knots the whole flight. While I was gone, he kept going. He wouldn't stop chewing.
I keep wishing I could just ask him why. My best guess: it hurt, and he wanted the hurt gone. Uma has been biting and tugging at that tail for weeks, and Harlow already carried an old injury there from years back — she likely woke it back up. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He got rid of the pain by getting rid of the part that held it. Add in the anxiety that's crept in with his senior years, and it's not hard to understand the logic, even if it broke my heart to watch.
It got me asking: where am I doing the same thing? What pieces of myself do I try to remove rather than actually feel? And when I do that — when I excise instead of examine — am I really moving forward, or just walking in tighter and tighter circles, mistaking motion for growth?
Harlow's tail is gone, but it isn't gone. There's still an energetic tail there, a phantom limb that can ache long after the physical one is gone. We can amputate, distract, numb, or look away from the parts of ourselves we don't like. But until we actually change our relationship to them, they keep steering us from somewhere just out of sight.
So I'll ask you what I've been asking myself: Where are you biting your own tail? What would it look like to meet the parts of yourself you'd rather not see — not to fix them or cut them off, but to actually sit with them? What might change if you inhabited those parts instead of exiling them?
View of Maiella from my house.
This is exactly the work I'm holding space for at my retreat in October, in Il Richiamo della Lupa — The Call of the She-Wolf. Seven days here in Decontra di Caramonico, in the heart of the Maiella National Park, built around the kind of time and space that real reconnection actually takes. Time to sit with the parts of yourself you've been chewing off instead of feeling. Space held by this mountain, this wild landscape that doesn't ask you to hide anything. And me, here to support you through it, not to hand you answers, but to help you find your way back to the parts of you that are still waiting to be met.
If any of this is stirring something in you, I'd love for you to take a closer look. Spots are limited and filling up — you can find all the details at www.hanniguinn.com, and I'm always happy to answer any questions at hanni@hanniguinn.com.
At the end of the day, you're the only one who can love every part of yourself unconditionally— the whole, uncut, unedited tail and all.
P.S. I'm continuing to offer discounted Somatic Experiencing sessions right now. It's a great opportunity to experience the work I do in my coaching sessions at a very affordable price. Contact me for details.
