Becoming a recreational circus aerialist might not be on everyone’s radar. But if was for psychologist Sherry Walling, PhD, helping her work through grief. We talk about that and more in this interview for Mental Health Awareness Month.
Interview with Sherry Walling
I first learned about the cirque show Touching Two Words: Integration at the Liminary Arts Center in Minneapolis earlier this month. Dr. Walling teamed up with Lynn Lunny, who co-owns Stomping Ground Studio, and the two produced the show, as well as both performing in it. The show took place May 3rd and 4th, with the goal to explore the beauty of our inner worlds through several artists and acrobats.
The three-act show received rave reviews and was a beautiful accompanyment to her book Touching Two Words: A Guide for Finding Hope in the Landscape of Loss. Now, let’s get to the interview!
What do you hope people took away from the show?
I hope that people [took] away from the show a new understanding and appreciation of human wholeness. Through movement arts, we aim to show how mind, body and soul can live in tension with each other, and how imbalances among them lead to conflict and disintegration. True health comes from integrating and balancing these three crucial aspects. It is a dangerous thing to forget our capacity for wholeness.
Our society has overemphasized the mind, but the mind alone cannot bear the full weight of our humanness—it will crack under the pressure. We’ve been misled into overly relying on our egos. We’ve been sold products on the premise that our bodies are broken. We have been indoctrinated with a myth that prioritizes productivity over possibility and imagination.
We want to remind everyone of the importance of reconnecting with all parts of themselves—the body, mind, and soul. Of the healing power of movement, physical expression, play, art, creativity, and imagination to return to a state of love and internal harmony.
What do you love most about circus?
One of the things I love most about the circus is its historical role as a sanctuary for those who didn’t quite fit into societal molds. Historically, the circus was a place for people who were seen as anomalies—those who were exceptionally tall, remarkably strong, or somehow different. These individuals, often marginalized in everyday life, found a community and a sense of belonging in the circus.
This community celebrates what society might label as “freakish” or unusual, transforming potential shame into a celebration of diversity. It’s a place where misfits are not just accepted but revered, where the unusual is respected and curiosity is encouraged. This aspect of inclusion and acceptance resonates deeply with me.
Additionally, one of the elements I cherish most about the circus is its sense of playfulness. I advocate performing an activity purely for the joy it brings. This mindset of play is revolutionary in a world where productivity frequently takes priority.
Play is essential to our well-being and acts as an antidote to burnout. It provides a unique opportunity for everyone, not just children, to engage with their imagination and embrace a sense of wonder and freedom. I find this especially important for entrepreneurs and other high-performers, the kind of people I serve in my consulting practice, who are typically very goal-oriented and might view play as frivolous.
How has movement — specifically circus performances — helped you through grief?
My dad died of esophageal cancer. He was 65. My brother died by suicide. He was 33. I lost them six months apart from each other.
In addition to the crash course in death, I was running my own business and caring for three intense children. Trying to show up for my husband, trying to be a friend, and trying to deal with the developmental baggage of transitioning “over the hill,” and grappling with my own mortality.
I did what every reasonable middle-aged, working professional and mother of three would do in this situation. I joined the circus.
Trapeze had been a casual pastime. But when my overwhelm turned into professional burnout, I needed that once casual hobby like I needed air. Some days I trained for three hours a day: lifting weights in the morning, training with an aerial instructor, and then maybe practicing on my own for another hour.
I can’t express how grateful I am that aerial was in my life during the season of death and grief. In the midst of emotional heaviness, I needed something light and playful. I needed something that would take my mind off of loss. When I am moving as an aerialist, I’m thinking about spatial reasoning. I’m thinking about physics. I’m thinking about how not to fall, and that’s it.
And I can’t overstate the psychological necessity of play, especially when you’re in the midst of grief. Aerial is the one place where I have a break from sadness. There’s no emotional complexity. There are no triggers.
It also filled my life with interesting people. Isolation and loneliness are a debilitating part of grief.
Movement is one of the most powerful healing tools. It was hands down the most important protector of my mental health during the years of intense grief. I could grieve and cope effectively because I had something in my life that provided a counterbalance to all of the emotional weight that I was carrying.
Stay in touch with Sherry Walling
Thank you for being here to talk about how movement can help us heal! To find out about upcoming shows and other updates, consider signing up for the Touching Two Worlds newsletter.
For more information on Dr. Sherry Walling’s work, visit www.sherrywalling.com, follow her on Instagram as @dr.sherrywalling, and subscribe to her YouTube Channel.
How does dance or another type of movement help you? Feel free to share below!