‘Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence.’-Aristotle.

My name is Silvia Atim. I come from the Acholi tribe of Northern Uganda — known as Kodi pa Lyeci, or “Descendants of Elephants.” This name reflects our strength, resilience, and enduring spirit.. I moved to the United States in 2018.

From the time I was born, my life was shaped by civil conflict and War. One of the most significant experiences of my life was enduring the two decades of war started by the Lord’s Resistance Army .The rebels killed, abducted, and committed unimaginable atrocities against innocent people. Many were maimed or lost their lives in ways too painful to describe. My community lived under constant threat — of abduction, maiming, and death. Fear became part of everyday life. Even simple things, like walking to fetch water or going to school, carried the risk of never returning. Parents would hold their breath until their children came home, grateful for one more day together. I vividly remember one ambush I was caught in when the car ahead of us was struck by a missile. As flames rose, we ran toward a nearby military post for safety. I stood there, watching as the wounded and the dead were carried in — blood everywhere, cries filling the air. There was weeping and wailing, women collapsing to the ground in despair, tearing their clothes, asking why. I stood frozen, unable to move. In that moment, surrounded by so much suffering, I felt the weight of it all —It was the first time I truly reflected on the meaning of existence and questioned whether life held any purpose at all. That experience redirected my perspective and changed the way I chose to live, especially after the war ended. When I completed university and began earning a salary, I finally realized that—perhaps without knowing it—the constant fear of death had shaped my entire outlook. Living with the awareness that life could end at any moment made me unconsciously start living one day at a time. I stopped saving clothes for ‘special occasions’ because everyday was a special occasion for me. 

As I grew older, I learned to find beauty in the simplest things. I often stop to admire the sunrise and sunset, to watch clouds drifting by, and at night to look up at the stars and the moon, marveling at creation’s quiet beauty.”

My counseling practice is centered on the present moment — the here and now. I invite my clients to pause and take an honest inventory of themselves: their thoughts, emotions, and sense of peace. Together, we practice breathing, letting go of the anxieties of tomorrow, and meeting each day as it comes.

I encourage clients to find meaning in the ordinary, to appreciate the small moments, to notice beauty, and to rediscover joy — even in the midst of struggle. Each day offers a chance to breathe, to laugh, and to feel alive. When I founded Tribal Drum Recovery, I named it after the rhythm that shaped my life. Drumming and dancing were not just cultural expressions — they were acts of healing, grounding, and remembering. To me, the sound of the drum is a call to awareness — a return to the present, a reminder to be fully here, fully alive.

In my counseling practice, I carry the wisdom of my ancestors — the stories, proverbs, and songs that helped them make sense of joy, loss, and suffering. They taught that pain and loneliness are not signs of weakness, but part of being human. I weave that ancestral understanding together with modern approaches like Existential Therapy, REBT, Narrative Therapy, and Solution-Focused Brief Therapy.

Through this integration, I help clients explore what it means to live through grief, trauma, depression, anxiety, and life’s many transitions. Together, we face the questions that cannot be avoided — questions of death, meaning, Isolation and responsibility. We do not run from pain; we meet it with honesty, compassion, and courage.

It is often through suffering that we begin to see clearly. When we stop trying to escape pain and instead lean into it with openness, something new emerges — a deeper awareness, a sense of connection, and a life that feels authentic and whole.

For me, healing is not about forgetting what happened. It is about remembering who we are, reclaiming our voice, and learning to dance again — to the rhythm of our own drum.