Reflect

One of the first women I befriended in the motorcycle community told me something I'll never forget: "I know my motorcycle doesn't have a heartbeat, but I love it like it does." I understand what she means now. It's not just about the machine itself—although it's pretty damn cool. It's about what that machine has given her. Some of the most extraordinary, complicated, resilient, and fascinating women I've ever met have found their way onto two wheels. Mothers raising three ch

This week, my family lost someone we loved. A young man, full of life. Someone I once held in my arms as a child. A son. A brother. A cousin. My cousin. Deeply loved by so many. And now, we are left trying to comprehend that someone we loved was carrying pain so unbearable that he ended his own life. His suffering, once held within him, has become the epicenter of an earthquake, its tremors reaching everyone who loved him. The initial shock has left us devastated, and the af

My boyfriend Michael died two weeks after my 18th birthday. Nearly a year earlier, he and two friends had been drinking underage at a party they should not have been at and driving a car that wasn't theirs. They crashed into a light pole in the next town over. I got the call the next morning—his mother's voice breaking the quiet. One friend was gone on impact. Another survived, but would never walk the same again. Michael broke his neck. He spent months suspended between life

This blog might make some of the early psychologists and pioneers of psychotherapy turn in their graves. But I want to talk about love in therapy. Not romantic love. Not the kind that requires exclusivity, reciprocation, or a place in someone's personal life. I'm talking about the felt sense of connection. Deep attunement. Care, compassion, empathy, and the experience of forming a genuine bond with another human being. Can you actually love your therapist? And perhaps the mor

My version of a midlife crisis didn’t involve a red Corvette—it came with handlebars and a helmet. Somewhere between raising kids and running a therapy practice, I did something wildly out of character: I signed up for motorcycle lessons. This has been a long-standing dream, and now—firmly planted in midlife—I figured, if not now, when? Learning to ride has been equal parts thrilling, terrifying, humbling, and hilarious. It’s a full-body workout in concentration and balance,

College is often described as a time of self-discovery, unexpected experiences, and relationships that leave lasting impressions. Looking back, I've realized that some of the people who shape us most aren't necessarily the ones who stay the longest. I met my college boyfriend in a philosophy class, of all places. One day, he walked up to me, handed me a book about Buddhism, and tucked inside was his phone number along with a note asking me to go to the movies. I remember thin

Welcome to the digital sexual revolution, where people of all genders and sexual orientations are unapologetically writing their own definitions of sex, relationships, and intimacy. And honestly, I’m here for it. In therapy, there’s no such thing as “TMI.” Sexuality is a natural, messy, complicated, and beautiful part of the human experience—and it deserves a seat on the therapy couch right alongside stress, grief, and family drama. Not all nervous systems are equipped to han

Something happened in our small seaside community of Carlsbad that sent shockwaves through the people who call it home. My home. A mother was taken from us. A wife. A friend. A class volunteer. A field-trip driver. A room parent. A flag football coach. A party organizer. A friendly neighbor you see daily walking her dog. A warm smile. A familiar laugh. A distinct friendly voice. Someone who was woven into the ordinary fabric of our lives is suddenly no longer here. And perhap

I was raised deeply Catholic. Not casually Catholic. Not “Christmas and Easter” Catholic. I mean, Catholic school uniform for eight years, Catholic. Religion was woven into the fabric of my childhood. I was immersed in it wholeheartedly. I was school president, read scriptures at the podium in church, and even played the Virgin Mary in Midnight Mass. Yes, that Catholic. And for a long time, that structure gave me identity, belonging, and meaning. But somewhere along the way,

I have a complicated relationship with the word "forgiveness." Honestly, it's probably my least favorite F-word. Forgiveness isn't automatically a cornerstone of healing. What matters is whether it genuinely supports your recovery—not whether someone else thinks you should do it. Too often, forgiveness is presented in ways that feel forced, steeped in religious or moral expectations. You know the message: If you don't forgive someone for a wrongdoing—even if they never apolog

There’s a concept we come back to often in therapy: focus on what you can control. It sounds simple—until you’re raising a teenager in a world moving faster than you ever expected, where independence suddenly comes with handlebars and a throttle. For adolescents, everything is changing at once: their bodies, their minds, their social circles, and their hunger for independence—and, apparently, very expensive bikes (courtesy of YouTuber Sur Ronster). Now add electric bikes to t

Marriage Is Weird. When you really think about it, it's a fascinating social construct. For much of history, marriage had far more to do with survival, property, inheritance, family alliances, and children than romantic love. And yet somehow, we have come to expect one relationship to provide companionship, friendship, sex, emotional intimacy, financial partnership, co-parenting, stability, personal growth—and preferably forever. No wonder it's complicated. I never imagined I

Over the past few weeks, the same theme has surfaced again and again in my therapy office. Different people. Different backgrounds. Different life stories. And yet, the same painful words: "I feel like I’m failing." "I should be further ahead." "Everyone else seems to have it figured out." "Why am I not where they are?" The comparison list changes, but the underlying wound often stays the same. Income. Career. Relationships. Weight. Appearance. Age. Success. Status. Accomplis

Apparently, I’m Old Enough to Be a Therapist, But Not Quite Cool Enough to Say “Crash Out.” I had a moment recently in session where a client used the phrase: “I’m literally crashing out.” And I had to pause internally. Not because I didn’t understand what they meant—but because I did. Too well. Also because part of me was thinking: Am I cool enough to say that back? (Spoiler: I’m not. Not out loud. Not yet.) But here’s the thing: between my clients and having teenagers, I st

A good golf caddie knows the course—the obstacles, the distances, and the strategy for playing it well. A great caddie helps their player choose the right club, read the terrain, and stay focused from the first tee to the final putt. At first glance, golf and therapy may not seem to have much in common. But recently, a client helped me see just how similar the roles of a caddie and a therapist can be. Perhaps the comparison feels especially fitting because golf has been part

There is something about sitting in my chair that makes me feel like the conductor of an orchestra. I know the room. I know the rhythm. I understand the space and time. I can listen for what is being said—and what isn't. I can notice shifts in tone, changes in breathing, movement in the body, a pause that lasts a little longer than usual. I have my toolbox within reach. Years of clinical experience, modalities, training, supervision, intuition, and the accumulated education o

I grew up with four sisters and one brother—six kids, two parents, and one bathroom. My brother didn’t exactly have the easiest setup. Being the lone boy in a house full of girls—with more bunk beds than a boot camp—he was outnumbered from the start. Our home was chaotic, loud, and sometimes emotionally overwhelming. When I think back, one memory always makes me smile. After school, I used to take my brother and my two younger sisters on the public bus—three little ducklings

Have you ever had a reaction that felt much bigger than the situation in front of you? Someone raises their voice. Your boss offers feedback. A familiar smell fills the room. Someone takes longer than usual to respond to a text. Suddenly, your heart races, your stomach drops, and your body floods with one overwhelming feeling: “I DON'T FEEL SAFE.” You might become defensive, shut down, want to run, or wonder, Why am I reacting this way? I know I'm okay. Why can't I just calm

In EMDR and resourcing work, I often invite clients to identify a nurturing figure—someone (or something) that evokes safety, warmth, protection, and unconditional care. And time and time again, something beautiful happens. It’s not a parent. Not a partner. Not even a wise fictional character. It’s their dog. Their cat. A horse they bonded with as a child. Or an animal they lost years ago that still feels present in their nervous system. And honestly, that makes perfect sense

As therapists, we aim to meet every client with cultural humility, curiosity, and openness. We meet them where they are—without judgment. I truly believe that understanding a client’s “why we’re here” is often the key to figuring out how to help them get to where they want to go. Time and again, clients begin answering questions about religion, the afterlife, or personal beliefs with the familiar preface: “This is going to sound so woo-woo…” Here’s the thing: everyone’s “woo-