Reflect

There’s something poetic—and slightly terrifying—about hearing a new client say: “I’m a therapist too.” I’ll be honest. Working with therapists was never my niche. I didn’t set out thinking, Yes, I’d love to have someone in the room who knows exactly what I’m doing at all times. And yet… here we are. Over the years, somehow, my caseload quietly filled up with clinicians. Therapists. Healers. EMDR-trained, IFS-trained, attachment-savvy, trauma-informed, CEU-presenting humans.

The first Marine with Complex PTSD I ever encountered wasn't a client or a patient—it was my father. A proud Filipino-Irish American, he volunteered to serve in Vietnam, carrying a fierce sense of duty, courage, and love for his country. Like so many who served, he came home with wounds that weren't visible. As a child, I didn't understand why he reacted the way he did. I simply knew that the war had followed him home in ways I couldn't see. Years later, after becoming a trau

Shame is not “I did something bad.” Shame is “I am bad.” And there is a profound difference between the two. Guilt can guide us. Guilt can realign us with our values. Guilt says, that behavior didn’t feel right to me. Shame, however, burrows deeper. Shame doesn’t sit in the mind; it settles into the body. Into the gut. Into the soul. It becomes a heavy, dark knowing that whispers: You are unworthy. You are too much. Not enough. Broken. Bad. Shame feels like tar. Like being fe

Let’s talk about anger—the emotion most people try to outrun, suppress, or apologize for before it even fully lands. A lot of my clients come in saying: “I hate that I get angry.” “I don’t want to be that person.” "I wish I didn't react like that." And I get it. Anger can feel intense, messy, and at times, completely overwhelming. But anger itself isn’t the problem. Anger vs. Aggression (They’re Not the Same) Let’s clear something up first: Anger = an emotion Aggression = a b

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 like: 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 stay just current enough on the evolving language of emotional chaos. “Crashing out,” for those of

The room becomes quiet. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want everything to end. I don’t want to hurt.” There are moments in therapy when the room shifts, when the words land with a kind of weight that demands clarity, presence, and courage. This is one of them. As therapists, we are trained not to turn away from these moments—but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. In fact, one of the most important skills we develop is the willingness to say the words that many people are

I want to share some thoughts with you, written as a mother, a therapist, and someone who has walked a path similar to yours—a path full of hope, light, and potential, but also challenges that can test your sense of self. You Are Not Defined by the World You are growing up in a world that often tries to define your value by your looks, your body, or how well you fit into someone else’s expectations. Social media, peers, and popular culture will make it seem like perfection is

I've learned to "take the L," as my son likes to say after he beats me in basketball or another sport. I can usually accept the loss—as long as I still feel like I'm taking the "W" in parenting. Life, unfortunately, doesn't always hand us wins. Most of us spend our lives chasing them: healthy relationships, careers we're proud of, financial stability, raising good humans, reaching milestones we once dreamed about. Somewhere along the way, we start believing that if we're doin

Grief is the word we, as mere mortals, use to contain the vast, untamable sorrow of losing those we love. I’ve spent years dipping my feet in its shallows, sometimes burying my head in the sand, hoping to avoid its full weight. But now, in my forties, grief seems to have arrived in waves that are impossible to ignore. Maybe it's reaching the midpoint of life, where the list of people you've loved and lost quietly grows longer. Maybe it’s simply time—reflection deepening what

If I had to name the number one reason people seek therapy, anxiety would be at the top of the list. Whether it's constant worrying, racing thoughts, difficulty sleeping, panic attacks, overthinking conversations, fear of the future, or simply feeling like your mind won't slow down, anxiety is one of the most common reasons people walk through my (virtual) therapy door. The good news? Anxiety isn't a character flaw, weakness, or something that's "wrong" with you. It's actuall

“Humor is just another defense against the universe.”— Mel Brooks Humor holds an important place in the therapy room. It often sits right alongside grief, trauma, and loss. While tears are expected in session, genuine laughter shows up just as often—and both have value. Clients share stories filled with painful realities: abuse, abandonment, relational wounds, and profound heartbreak. These are serious experiences deserving of care and space. And yet, within many of these sto

Money is rarely just about money. In the therapy room, conversations about finances are often layered with something much deeper—fear, control, safety, identity, power, even love. What starts as “we keep arguing about spending” or “we’re not on the same page financially” quickly unfolds into a much more complex emotional landscape. I’ve sat with couples who are stuck in cycles of conflict—one partner saving rigorously, the other spending more freely. I’ve worked with families

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. A caddie supports their player by helping them use the tools they already h

Let's talk about free will—or, as Robert Sapolsky (the world-famous Stanford neuroscientist, primatologist, author, and—fun fact—the man whose kids I once nannied) puts it: "Free will is that charming little illusion we humans hold onto while our nervous systems quietly run the entire show." According to Sapolsky, we're basically walking collections of hormones, childhood experiences, attachment patterns, and trauma histories—all firing together to create what we call "choice

Addiction is not foreign to any of us. It lives in the marrow of our culture. Addiction is our very human way of trying to feel better — and somehow ending up feeling worse. It is self-soothing turned self-sabotage. An attempt to even the scales — and instead breaking them. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex. Porn. Gambling. Love. Social media. Food. We live in a culture of endless stimulation — faster, louder, more, better. Our phones are slot machines. Dating apps provide intermittent re

Sometimes clients enter therapy seeking support for familiar symptoms such as anxiety, depressed mood, or persistent rumination. Yet beneath these experiences, the source of their suffering is not a cognitive distortion or negativity bias, but the profound reality of a life-limiting illness or terminal diagnosis. Clients whose bodies have betrayed them through chronic illness. With people who are staring straight at the thing most of us spend our lives trying not to see: the

For most of my adult life, I have worked with children. I have studied them, supported them, and built a career around understanding how early experiences shape who we become. But the most profound lessons about childhood didn’t come from my education or my profession. They came when I had children of my own. And parenting, as it turns out, is the most humbling experience of my life. Like many parents who grew up with adverse experiences, I entered motherhood carrying a quiet

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 tones. You know the message: if you don’t forgive someone for a wrongdoing — even if they never apologize —

For years, therapy relied almost entirely on subjective reports—what clients feel, remember, notice, and report. Now, wearable technology—like stylish rings and watches—offers a new way to enhance client insight into their emotional and physiological states. Devices such as the Oura Ring, Garmin watches, and Apple Watches are no longer just tracking steps or sleep. They’re offering real-time reflections of stress, recovery, and resilience—data points that increasingly mirror

If there’s one thing therapy has taught me—both as a therapist and as a fallible, imperfect person—it’s that perfection has never healed anyone. Not once. And honestly, holding ourselves to that impossible standard is often what creates the deepest suffering. What heals is honesty. What heals is showing up with the cracks, the dents, the “I wish I hadn’t done that” moments, the grief we’ve been white-knuckling, the mistakes we’ve tried to bury under a busy schedule and a tigh