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Therapists Can’t Keep Up With the Emerging Mental Health Crisis


More from the Well Newsletter

Starting Jan. 3, I’m going to lead readers on a four-week Eat Well Challenge in special Monday editions of this newsletter. We’ll be exploring why restrictive diets don’t work, offering advice for coping with cravings, and sharing the latest science on how to retrain our brains and reshape our daily eating habits so we feel great every day.

If you’re reading this newsletter, you don’t need to do anything new to receive the Eat Well Challenge. It will just show up in your inbox. But as a bonus, we’re offering a new text message feature for those who want to sign up. During each week of the challenge, we’ll send a few text messages, with support, coaching and tips, and you’ll be able to share your experiences and ask me questions.

I can’t promise a personal response to every message, but I’ll be reading what you send and may respond in future newsletters. We may also continue the texting service after the challenge ends. (And don’t worry, you can stop receiving messages at any time.)

Text us today at 917-810-3302 for a link to join. (Message and data rates may apply.)


Jillian Kay Segal had a Harvard M.B.A. and was a married mother of three who started rabbinical school in her 50s. When she died from cancer in 2019, she left behind a hole in the hearts of all who knew her — as well as a mystery in her knitting bag. Her sister, Alison Leigh Cowan, found the unfinished knitting project and set out to find out what it was, learning to knit and grieve along the way.

I stuffed the mysterious mess back in the knitting bag with other unfinished projects and tried to learn how to knit and purl myself, attempting with every stitch to be a little bit more like my missing sister, even though the effort hurt. Every click of the needles reminded me of her, conjuring anew all the things she had said and made to warm us and wrap us in beauty: a chuppah for my daughter’s wedding, a tallit bag for our father, afghans for the kids.

Read the full story from The Forward:
My sister was a master knitter. When she died, I picked up her needles — literally.


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