Book Review: Why Does Everybody Hate Me? Living and Loving with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

Overview — and Why This Book Hit Close to Home

Why Does Everybody Hate Me? is a compassionate, validating, and deeply human exploration of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) by ADHD advocate Alex Partridge. Through personal stories, humor, and accessible psychoeducation, Partridge gives language to an experience many neurodivergent people live with silently—often wrapped in shame, confusion, and self‑doubt.

As a therapist, I was struck by how precisely this book reflects what I see clinically.
As someone living with RSD myself, it brought up a mix of anger, grief, relief, and recognition—sometimes all on the same page.

Alex Partridge doesn’t bury the lead. He tells you exactly what this book is about:

“Its all about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), something I truly believe to be the hardest part of ADHD.”

There were moments I had to put the book down. Not because it was dramatic or overwhelming, but because it was accurate. The book didn’t exaggerate RSD. It named it.

Partridge also answers his own question with disarming directness:

“Why did I write this book?
RSD hurts like hell.”

That sentence alone explains why this book matters. It doesn’t try to talk readers out of their experience. It names it clearly — and then offers language and pathways forward.

What Is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD)?

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) refers to intense emotional pain triggered by perceived or actual rejection, criticism, or failure. While it is not a formal DSM diagnosis, it is widely recognized by ADHD specialists as a form of emotional dysregulation, most commonly associated with ADHD and other neurodivergent profiles.

The word dysphoria means “difficult to bear.” And for people with RSD, that description is painfully exact. The response is often immediate, overwhelming, and deeply embodied. What might feel mildly uncomfortable to one person can register as emotionally devastating to someone with RSD.

Partridge dismantles the myth that RSD is simply “being too sensitive.” Instead, he frames it as a nervous system that reacts to perceived disconnection as though safety itself is at stake.

Partridge frames the “why” behind it like this:

“People with ADHD experience something called Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, it causes intense pain and is triggered by real or perceived rejection, and it happens because ADHD people were criticized 20,000 more times than your average child.”

He also emphasizes the core experience: the pain isn’t a mild sting. It’s heavy, fast, and often overwhelming — a theme echoed in multiple clinical and psychoeducational descriptions of RSD.

Actual Rejection vs. the Felt Experience of RSD

One of the most validating distinctions Partridge makes is between actual rejection and the felt experience of rejection when RSD is activated.

Actual rejection is real. People do leave, say no, pull away, or disappoint us. When that happens, pain is normal and appropriate.

RSD, however, does not require actual rejection to activate. It is often triggered by:

• ambiguity

• anticipation

• silence

• a shift in tone

• a delayed response

And this is critical to name:

The pain of RSD is real—even when rejection itself is not.

RSD is a nervous‑system event, not a cognitive misunderstanding. The body reacts first—before the thinking brain has time to assess what’s actually happening.

This is why someone with RSD can logically know:

• “They probably aren’t mad at me,”

• “This doesn’t mean I did anything wrong,”

• “Nothing bad has actually happened,”

…and still feel completely undone.

Both things can be true:

• It may not be actual rejection

• And the pain still deserves care

Invalidating that pain because rejection hasn’t “technically” happened only deepens shame and prolongs spirals.

The Physical Reality of RSD: When Emotional Pain Lives in the Body

One of the most misunderstood aspects of RSD—and one Partridge names clearly—is that RSD pain is not just emotional. It is physical.

People with RSD are often told:

• “Don’t take it so personally.”

• “Try not to read into it.”

• “Just calm down.”

These responses assume the distress lives primarily in thoughts. For many of us, RSD begins in the body.

The nervous system reacts before there is time to think.

Common physical experiences during an RSD episode include:

• A sudden hollow or dropping sensation in the stomach, like a free‑fall

• Tightness or pain in the chest, sometimes described as heartbreak or pressure

• A lump in the throat or difficulty swallowing

• Feeling winded, shaky, flushed, or nauseous

• A sense of collapse, dissociation, or urgent need to escape

Many people describe RSD as feeling like they’ve been punched in the chest or emotionally “winded”—even when nothing overt has happened.

Partridge highlights a key neuroscience reality:
the brain processes social rejection using some of the same neural pathways as physical pain.

This is why the pain feels real—because it is real.

Personally, some of my most intense RSD reactions have started not with catastrophic thoughts, but with a body signal:

• a sudden heaviness in my chest after reading a short text

• a rush of nausea after sensing a subtle shift in tone

• the urge to withdraw or disappear before I could articulate why

Only afterward did the story show up: I messed up. I’m too much. I don’t belong.

Understanding RSD as a somatic experience changes how we respond. Regulation has to start with safety, grounding, and reassurance—not logic alone.

What RSD Feels Like — Especially Inside Relationships

RSD tends to show up most strongly in relationships that matter.

Caring increases emotional risk. With that risk comes hyper‑vigilance: scanning for tone changes, pauses, facial expressions, or moments of ambiguity that the brain can quickly interpret as rejection.

Reading this section brought up anger and grief for me—anger at the sheer amount of internal work required just to stay regulated, and grief for how RSD has shaped my relationships.

Many people with RSD live in a painful tension:

• Needing reassurance, clarity, and patience

• While desperately not wanting to feel needy or burdensome

Partridge names a thought many are afraid to say out loud:

Why would anyone want to partner with me—or be close friends with me—if this is what my inner world is like?

That question doesn’t come from self‑hatred.
It comes from chronic emotional labor.

The Hidden Exhaustion of Managing Yourself Around Others

Partridge speaks to something rarely acknowledged:
the exhaustion of managing yourself in close relationships when you live with RSD.

• Monitoring reactions.

• Rewriting internal narratives.

• Pausing before responding.

• Talking yourself down from emotional cliffs.

• Apologizing for feelings you didn’t choose.

Over time, this constant self‑regulation can become so draining that distance starts to feel safer than connection.

Not because you don’t want closeness—but because closeness requires so much work.

Sometimes withdrawal isn’t avoidance. It’s fatigue.

RSD and Perfectionism: “If I Do Everything Right, I Can’t Be Rejected”

Another powerful insight in the book is its reframing of perfectionism.

Perfectionism isn’t about excellence.
It’s about safety.

Partridge explains how perfectionism becomes a survival strategy: if I anticipate needs, say the right thing, perform well, and never misstep, maybe I can prevent rejection before it happens.

For many with RSD, perfectionism looks like:

• Over‑preparing for interactions

• Replaying conversations afterward

• Holding impossibly high standards

• Deep shame over small mistakes

• Believing connection must be earned

Perfectionism becomes an attempt to control connection—and over time, it leads to exhaustion, isolation, and self‑erasure.

When RSD Leads Us to Lower Our Standards and Settle for Less

Another painful pattern Partridge gently names is how RSD can lead us to lower our standards in relationships and tolerate being treated poorly.

When rejection feels unbearable, the nervous system often prioritizes any connection over healthy connection.

The internal logic may sound like:

• Maybe I’m asking for too much.

• At least they’re still here.

• If I speak up, they might leave.

• I should be grateful anyone wants me.

RSD can quietly distort our sense of what we’re allowed to want. When fear of rejection is intense, self‑abandonment can feel safer than risking disconnection.

This isn’t a character flaw. It’s survival.

But over time, lowering standards creates a quieter, deeper harm. Resentment builds. Exhaustion grows. And the belief that “this is all I can expect” becomes harder to challenge.

Raising standards with RSD isn’t arrogance—it’s courage.

Getting Out of an RSD Shame Spiral: What Actually Helps

Shame spirals are often the most painful part of RSD—when perceived rejection turns into “I am too much,” “I am unlovable,” or “I don’t belong.”

Partridge reminds us that logic rarely works in the moment. RSD is a nervous‑system response, not a reasoning one.

When RSD hits, it often triggers a fast, brutal shame spiral:

I’m too much.
They’re annoyed with me.
I ruined it.
No one actually wants me.

In those moments, logic is usually the wrong starting point. RSD is a nervous‑system experience first, not a thinking one. What helps most is regulation—not convincing yourself anything.

Here are the tools that have helped me most in real life.

Anchor, Don’t Argue

When I’m spiraling, I do not start by debating the thoughts in my head. I don’t ask, Is this rational? or What evidence do I have?

Instead, I anchor.

I keep a dedicated photo album on my iPhone specifically for moments when RSD and shame hit. I have had it for years and find it incredible helpful. It includes:

• Photos of handwritten notes friends have given me

• Birthday and holiday cards

• Screenshots of meaningful texts or emails

• Photos tied to grounding memories of connection (shared dinners, trips, ordinary moments that felt safe)

This album is not about “proof” in a legal sense. It’s not about winning an argument with my brain.

It’s about felt safety.

When shame says, “No one wants you. You’re tolerated at best,” I scroll. Slowly. Intentionally. I don’t rush it. I let my nervous system see faces, handwriting, words that came from people who chose connection with me.

What I notice is this: my breathing changes. My shoulders drop. The intensity softens enough that I can think again.

This works because RSD isn’t just a story—it’s a body state. Anchoring gives the nervous system sensory evidence of belonging, which calms the threat response faster than logic ever could.

Name What’s Happening

One of the most powerful (and simplest) steps is quietly naming what’s happening:

“This is RSD.”

Not:

• I’m ridiculous.

• I’m overreacting.

• What is wrong with me?

But:

• My nervous system is activated.

• This is RSD doing what it does.

Naming it creates distance between who you are and what’s happening in your body.

It also interrupts shame. Instead of the spiral becoming “I am the problem,” it becomes “Something is happening to me—and I know what it is.”

I’ll often say this silently to myself before doing anything else:

This is RSD. I don’t need to solve the relationship right now. I need to regulate.

That alone can reduce the urgency enough to prevent impulsive texts, apologies, or emotional withdrawal that I later regret.

Delay Meaning‑Making

RSD demands immediate meaning: That tone meant they’re mad.
That pause means I messed up.
That vague message means I’m unwanted.

One of the hardest but most effective skills is delaying that meaning.

Delay doesn’t mean denial. It means not deciding the story while activated.

This can look like:

• Waiting an hour before responding to a triggering text

• Sleeping on it before sending the long explanation or apology

• Saying to yourself, “I don’t have enough information yet.”

Even brief delays help because emotional intensity naturally peaks and falls. Once the body settles even slightly, the story often changes—or at least softens.

I’ll sometimes literally tell myself:

This feels urgent, but it isn’t. I can decide tomorrow.

Delay is a way of protecting both your relationships and your dignity from the heat of the RSD moment.

Seek Reassurance Without Shame

This one matters deeply.

Many people with RSD avoid reassurance because they’re afraid of being:

• too needy

• too much

• a burden

But here’s the truth: reassurance is not weakness—it’s co‑regulation.

RSD developed in a nervous system that experienced repeated criticism, inconsistency, or relational unpredictability. Reassurance helps repair that learning.

Healthy reassurance sounds like:

• “Hey, my brain is spiraling—can you tell me if we’re okay?”

• “I might be reading into this. Were you upset, or just busy?”

• “Can you reassure me that we’re good? That would help me settle.”

This is not asking someone else to manage your emotions forever. It’s using relationship as a healing resource, not a threat.

Over time, consistent reassurance doesn’t increase dependency—it often reduces reactivity, because the nervous system learns that clarity and care are available.

The goal isn’t to never need reassurance.
The goal is to receive enough safety that your system doesn’t have to scream for it.

A Gentle Reframe

None of these tools are about becoming less sensitive.

They’re about:

• working with your nervous system instead of against it

• responding to pain with compassion instead of shame

• staying connected without disappearing

RSD doesn’t mean you’re broken.

It means your body learned how much rejection hurts—and did everything it could to protect you from that pain.

These tools aren’t fixes.
They’re supports. And for many of us, support is exactly what allows healing to happen.

The Overlap Between RSD, ADHD, and Childhood Trauma

RSD is closely linked to ADHD—but it often overlaps with childhood and relational trauma.

For those who grew up with emotional inconsistency, chronic criticism, bullying, or conditional love, rejection is rarely just about the present moment.

Trauma teaches the nervous system:

• Love can be withdrawn

• Belonging must be earned

• Disconnection is dangerous

When trauma and neurodivergence overlap, the nervous system becomes hyper‑vigilant. Small ambiguities may activate old fears:

If I am rejected, I am not safe.

These patterns reflect adaptation, not defect.

For Partners, Friends, and Family: Communicating with Care

And Why an Explicit Invitation Matters

A core message of this book is how much communication style—and explicit invitation—matter.

Neutral language is often not neutral to an RSD nervous system. Silence, short replies, vague tone, or delays can feel like withdrawal.

And critically:

People with RSD often need an explicit invitation to communicate.

Many of us don’t ask for reassurance because we’re trying not to be “too much.”

Helpful practices include:

• Saying the invitation out loud (“If you’re unsure, you can ask me”)

• Being explicit rather than neutral

• Pairing pauses with reassurance

• Using warmth intentionally

Reassurance doesn’t make RSD worse. It helps regulate it.

Partridge explains how repeated criticism accumulates into a nervous system that expects rejection — and he gives examples of the kinds of messages ADHD kids often hear:

“Why are you being weird, it’s not that loud in here”
“You’re embarrassing yourself”
“Why are you being lazy?”
“Stop biting your nails!”
“Why are you crying?!”
“You’ve let me down!”
“You’re really rude”
“Stop being weird!”
“Stop fidgeting”
“Calm down”
“Be normal!”
“Stop it!”

And he connects that history to how adults interpret social information:

“And it means that as as adult, they read positive comments as neutral, in fact they don’t believe positivity, it bounces off them, they read neutral comments like ‘come to the party if you like’, as negative and when they experience actual negative comments, well, let’s just say you don’t want to be around for that. Instant rage, sadness and crippling shame. It’s brutal.”

That “instant” emotional shift and the intensity of shame/anger/sadness maps closely onto common clinical descriptions of RSD as a rapid, painful reactivity pattern.

Final Reflections

This book didn’t make RSD easy—but it made it less lonely.

It helped me hold two truths at once:

• RSD can be profoundly exhausting

• People with RSD are not broken, unlovable, or too much

Needing clarity, patience, and care doesn’t make you weak.
It means your nervous system learned how to survive.

If you live with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, I want you to hear this clearly: nothing about you is “too much,” broken, or shameful. Your nervous system learned early that connection could be fragile and that rejection could hurt deeply—and it adapted in the only ways it knew how. That sensitivity you carry is not a flaw; it is evidence of how deeply you care, how attuned you are, and how hard you have worked to belong. Healing RSD isn’t about becoming less yourself or feeling less—it’s about learning that you are allowed safety, clarity, connection, and reassurance without earning them through perfection or self-erasure. You are not imagining your pain. You are not weak for needing support. And you do not have to disappear in order to be loved. You are worthy of care exactly as you are, in this moment, and you always have been.

References & Further Reading

• Partridge, A. (2026). Why Does Everybody Hate Me? Living and Loving with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Sheldon Press. (Publication details and description) [allbelong.com], [neurodiver...odcast.com]

• Cleveland Clinic. (2022). Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD): overview and symptoms. [youtube.com]

• Mutti‑Driscoll, C. J. (2026). “Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria: The Iceberg Under the Surface.” Psychology Today.

• Rowney‑Smith, A., Sutton, B., Quadt, L., & Eccles, J. A. (2026). The lived experience of rejection sensitivity in ADHD (qualitative themes include withdrawal and bodily sensations). PLOS One. [bookhero.co.nz]

• Rehman, M., & Quddos, S. (2025). Childhood trauma and rejection sensitivity associations. Journal of Child & Adolescent Trauma. [coles-books.co.uk]

• Clark, G. (2026). RSD and trauma overlap (relational trauma and nervous system threat responses). A Braver Space. [youtube.com]

• Magdi, H. M., et al. (2025). ADHD and PTSD adult comorbidity (systematic review). Systematic Reviews. [youtube.com]

• Chester, D. S., DeWall, C. N., & Pond, R. S. (2016). Evidence for overlap between social pain and physical-pain-related neural signatures. Cognitive, Affective, & Behavioral Neuroscience. [takecontroladhd.com]

• Woo, C‑W., et al. (2014). Pain and social rejection neural representations (overview of the research context). Nature Communications. [discoveryo...athllc.com]

Lost in Space and Lost on an Island: How Project Hail Mary and Cast Away Explore Loneliness and the Need for Connection

⚠️ Movie Spoiler Alert
This article contains spoilers for Project Hail Mary (2026) and Cast Away (2000).

Introduction: Two Very Different Stories, One Shared Human Need

Project Hail Mary and Cast Away take place in drastically different environments. One is set light‑years from Earth aboard a spacecraft. The other unfolds on a deserted island in the Pacific Ocean. But psychologically and emotionally, these films are telling the same story:

What happens to the human mind when connection is removed—and what changes when it returns?

Both films explore isolation, resilience, and the ways humans instinctively reach for relationship when they are completely alone.

A Brief Overview of Project Hail Mary

Project Hail Mary follows Ryland Grace (Ryan Gosling), a former middle‑school science teacher and molecular biologist who wakes up alone aboard a spacecraft with no memory of how he got there. He soon realizes he is the sole surviving crew member on a one‑way mission to stop a microorganism that is slowly dimming Earth’s sun and threatening mass extinction.

For a large portion of the movie, Grace is entirely alone—managing fear, confusion, and the psychological strain of isolation while solving complex scientific problems. Eventually, however, the story shifts when Grace encounters Rocky, an alien who is on a similar mission to save his own planet. Their relationship becomes the emotional center of the film and transforms Grace’s experience of isolation into one of shared survival and mutual growth.

A Brief Overview of Cast Away

Cast Away (2000), directed by Robert Zemeckis and starring Tom Hanks, tells the story of Chuck Noland, a FedEx executive whose plane crashes in the Pacific Ocean. Chuck survives but becomes stranded alone on an uninhabited island for several years.

With no other humans present, Chuck must learn to survive physically and psychologically. Over time, the absence of human connection takes an increasing toll on him. One of the most memorable and psychologically significant parts of the film is Chuck’s relationship with Wilson, an inanimate volleyball that becomes his companion during isolation. The film is widely regarded as a powerful portrayal of the emotional and mental effects of prolonged solitude.

Who Is Wilson—and Why Does He Matter?

Wilson is a volleyball, not a living being. Chuck finds it among the cargo that washes ashore after the plane crash. During an early attempt to make fire, Chuck injures his hand, accidentally leaving a bloody handprint on the volleyball. In a moment of desperation and loneliness, he draws a face on it and names it “Wilson.”

From that point on, Chuck talks to Wilson, argues with him, seeks comfort from him, and relates to him as if he were another person. Wilson becomes a substitute for human connection—someone to speak to in a place where there is no one else.

Psychologically, Wilson represents a crucial survival strategy. When humans are isolated for long periods, the brain seeks ways to preserve connection, identity, and regulation. Wilson functions as an emotional anchor, helping Chuck maintain a sense of self and emotional stability even though the relationship is symbolic rather than real.

Wilson cannot change Chuck’s situation—but he helps Chuck remain human while enduring it.

Loneliness and Mental Health in Both Films

Despite their different settings, both films portray isolation in very similar psychological ways. The characters:

• Talk out loud to maintain organization of thought

• Create routines to structure time

• Attach meaning to tasks as a way to stabilize emotion

• Struggle with despair, hope, and identity over time

These behaviors reflect what mental‑health research and clinical work consistently show: humans are not wired to tolerate long‑term isolation without relational support, whether real or symbolic.

Both films also reflect cultural patterns—especially for men—where emotional self‑sufficiency is emphasized, while dependence and vulnerability are often discouraged.

Who Is Rocky—and Why Is He Different from Wilson?

Rocky is an alien engineer from a distant planet whose environment, biology, and communication style are completely different from Earth’s. He breathes ammonia instead of oxygen, perceives the world through echolocation rather than sight, and communicates using musical tones rather than spoken language. Rocky is not a mascot or a metaphor—he is a fully autonomous, intelligent being with his own mission, needs, and emotional capacity.

Unlike Wilson, Rocky can:

• Communicate independently

• Disagree and problem‑solve

• Take risks and make sacrifices

• Influence Grace’s decisions and priorities

Rocky and Ryland Grace initially connect out of necessity, but gradually form a deep bond based on trust, cooperation, and shared responsibility. Their relationship requires patience, translation, and mutual care, making connection transformational rather than symbolic.

From Wilson to Rocky: How Connection Evolves

Wilson represents symbolic connection—a way to endure isolation when real relationship is unavailable.

Rocky represents mutual relationship—a bond that demands growth, vulnerability, and collaboration.

This distinction matters psychologically. Coping strategies, like Wilson, help people survive emotionally. Real relationships, like the one Grace forms with Rocky, change who a person becomes.

Through Rocky, Grace learns that survival isn’t just about intelligence or self‑reliance. It’s about trust, cooperation, and being willing to need another being. Grace doesn’t just get through isolation—he is fundamentally shaped by relationship.

Watching Project Hail Mary as a Family

I watched Project Hail Mary with my family on Easter Sunday, just after returning from a spring break trip. We were exhausted—physically and emotionally—and not expecting anything profound.

What surprised me was how grounding the experience felt. Sitting together, watching a story about isolation and connection, felt regulating in itself. No big conversations—just shared space and presence.

In a quiet way, it echoed what both films communicate: togetherness matters, even in small, ordinary moments.

The Male Loneliness Epidemic: The Real‑World Context Behind These Films

The themes explored in Cast Away and Project Hail Mary are not just cinematic—they reflect a growing public‑health concern often referred to as the male loneliness epidemic.

Since 2023, U.S. health authorities and international organizations have formally identified loneliness and social isolation as a public health crisis. While loneliness affects people of all genders, research consistently shows that men are more likely to be socially isolated, less likely to feel meaningfully connected to a community, and less likely to seek emotional support when they are struggling.

Data from the American Institute for Boys and Men shows that while men and women report similar overall levels of loneliness, men are significantly more likely to say they do not belong to any group or community and that their role in the world feels “less relevant.” These feelings are particularly pronounced in older men and men with fewer social or educational resources.

Younger men are also at risk. Psychological research indicates that a significant proportion of U.S. men ages 15–34 report feeling lonely frequently, often more so than their peers in other developed nations. Factors linked to this include remote work, increased reliance on technology for connection, fewer in‑person friendships, and persistent stigma around men expressing emotional need or vulnerability.

The mental‑health consequences are significant. Loneliness and lack of social connection are strongly associated with higher rates of depression, anxiety, physical health problems, and suicide risk. Men, in particular, die by suicide at significantly higher rates than women, and social disconnection is a major contributing factor.

What’s striking is how closely these real‑world patterns mirror the stories told in these films. Chuck Noland and Ryland Grace are both competent, problem‑solving, emotionally restrained men who initially rely on self‑sufficiency to survive isolation. Neither seeks connection at first—connection emerges only when isolation becomes unbearable.

In Cast Away, that need shows up symbolically through Wilson. In Project Hail Mary, it shows up through Rocky, a relationship that requires vulnerability, cooperation, and emotional risk. Both stories reflect a truth well known in therapy rooms: men are often allowed competence, but not closeness—and loneliness grows in that gap.

🧠 Therapist Takeaway: Why These Movies Matter—Especially in the Era of the Male Loneliness Epidemic

• The male loneliness epidemic is real—and often invisible. Research shows that many men experience deep social isolation, fewer close friendships, and a weaker sense of belonging, even if they don’t label themselves as “lonely.” Both films reflect this reality through competent, self‑sufficient male protagonists whose emotional needs go largely unspoken.

• Loneliness is not a personal failure. Isolation changes the nervous system and increases risk for depression, physical health problems, and suicide. Men are often socialized to endure rather than reach out, which makes loneliness quieter—but no less dangerous.

• Symbolic connection is a survival strategy. Wilson represents how people—especially men—cope when real connection feels unavailable or unsafe. When vulnerability isn’t permitted, the mind finds substitutes to preserve emotional regulation and identity.

• Healing requires mutual relationship. Rocky demonstrates what moves people from survival to growth. Mutual, responsive connection—where needs, risks, and care go both ways—is what reshapes identity and restores meaning.

• Competence is not the same as connection. Both films challenge the idea that strength means self‑reliance alone. True resilience includes the ability to depend on others without shame.

• Small, shared moments matter. Watching a movie together, working alongside someone, sharing space without fixing or performing—these are powerful counterweights to isolation and key tools for addressing loneliness in men and families alike.

Ultimately, Cast Away and Project Hail Mary hold up a mirror to our culture:
we allow men to be capable, but rarely to be connected.

In the midst of a loneliness epidemic, these stories remind us that connection is not an add‑on to mental health—it is foundational.

Whether lost on an island or adrift in space, Cast Away and Project Hail Mary tell the same truth:
humans are not meant to be alone—and connection is what keeps us human.

References: The Male Loneliness Epidemic

1. American Institute for Boys and Men (AIBM).
   Bledsoe, I., & Smith, B. (2025). Male loneliness and isolation: What the data shows.
   This report analyzes national survey data and finds that while men and women report similar levels of loneliness, men are more likely to experience social isolation, lack of community belonging, and reduced sense of relevance—especially older men and men with fewer educational or social resources.
   https://aibm.org/research/male-loneliness-and-isolation-what-the-data-shows/ [collider.com]

2. Healthline.
   Male loneliness epidemic: Research, myths, and coping strategies. (2026).
   This overview summarizes current research identifying loneliness as a public‑health crisis, noting gendered patterns in how loneliness is experienced and reported, including men’s lower likelihood of seeking emotional support and discussing vulnerability.
   https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/male-loneliness-epidemic [youtube.com]

3. Psychology Today.
   Killian, K. D., PhD, LMFT. (2025). The loneliest of all: Younger men in the U.S.
   This article reviews research showing elevated loneliness among U.S. men ages 15–34 compared to peers in other developed nations and identifies contributing factors such as remote work, reliance on technology, reduced in‑person friendships, and stigma around emotional expression.
   https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/intersections/202509/the-loneliest-of-all-younger-us-men [projecthai...fandom.com]

4. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).
   Bruss, K. V., Seth, P., & Zhao, G. (2024). Loneliness, lack of social and emotional support, and mental health issues — United States, 2022.
   This CDC report establishes loneliness as a significant risk factor for depression, frequent mental distress, and poor physical health, and underscores the relationship between social disconnection and serious mental‑health outcomes.
   https://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/volumes/73/wr/mm7324a1.htm [imdb.com]

5. American Institute for Boys and Men (AIBM).
   Additional analysis cited in connection between social isolation and suicide risk among men, noting that men die by suicide at significantly higher rates than women and that social disconnection is a major contributing factor.
   https://aibm.org/research/male-loneliness-and-isolation-what-the-data-shows/ [collider.com]

When a Marriage Ends, the Judgment Begins: How to Support Someone Through Divorce Without Taking Sides

A few weeks ago, a client said something that lingered with me long after our session ended:

“I’m not just grieving my marriage. I’m grieving how differently people are treating me now.”

They asked if I’d write about divorce—not the logistics, not the legal pieces, but the social and relational fallout. The judgment. The awkwardness. The friendships that suddenly feel fragile. The family members who ask too many questions. The people who quietly disappear.

So this article is for them—and for anyone who has walked through divorce or loved someone who has.

Divorce Isn’t Just a Legal Ending—It’s a Social Earthquake

Divorce is consistently ranked among the most stressful life events a person can experience, second only to the death of a spouse. It disrupts identity, stability, finances, routines, and emotional safety all at once. Research shows increased rates of depression, anxiety, shame, and social isolation during this period, particularly in the early years following separation.

But what often hurts just as much as the loss of the relationship is how others respond to it.

Friends feel forced to “pick sides.”
Family members ask for explanations they aren’t entitled to.
Some people offer advice when what’s needed is presence.
Others withdraw entirely, unsure what to say—or afraid it might “rub off.”

Divorce creates discomfort for everyone, and judgment is often a way people try to manage their own unease.

Why We Judge (Even When We Don’t Mean To)

Judgment during divorce often isn’t malicious—it’s protective. People fill in gaps with assumptions because:

• They’re only hearing one side of the story

• Divorce challenges their beliefs about relationships, commitment, or morality

• It activates fear: “If this happened to them, could it happen to me?”

• They want clarity in a situation that is deeply nuanced

Social stigma remains a real issue, even as divorce becomes more common. Many divorced individuals report feelings of shame, failure, and being quietly categorized as “the problem,” particularly when others don’t understand the complexity behind the decision.

The truth is this:

1. You can never fully understand a marriage from the outside.

2. And no one owes the world the full context of their pain.

Navigating Friendships and Family During Divorce

One of the hardest realities of divorce is that relationships often change—even the good ones.

• Shared friends may pull away or grow awkward

• Invitations slow down

• Conversations feel loaded or overly cautious

• Family members may push for details, blame, or reconciliation

Research confirms that divorce commonly reshapes social networks, leading to loneliness and secondary losses that often go unacknowledged.

For the person going through divorce, this can feel like:

• “I’m on trial without knowing the charges.”

• “I lost people I thought would always be there.”

• “I’m exhausted from managing everyone else’s feelings.”

All of this while grieving the marriage itself.

Common Struggles People Experience During Divorce

Divorce rarely brings one clean emotion. Most people experience conflicting, overlapping feelings, including:

• Grief and relief at the same time

• Shame or self‑doubt, even when the decision was necessary

• Anxiety about finances, parenting, or the future

• Loneliness and loss of shared identity

• Emotional dysregulation—tearfulness, irritability, numbness

• Feeling misunderstood or unfairly judged

Neurological and psychological research suggests divorce can function like a trauma response for some individuals, especially when high conflict or sudden loss is involved.

This is not weakness—it’s the nervous system responding to destabilization.

How to Support Someone Going Through Divorce (Without Making It Worse)

If someone you care about is navigating divorce, your role is not to solve it or analyze it. Your role is to hold steady.

Here’s what actually helps:

1. Honor that you only have one side of the story
You don’t need the full picture to offer compassion. Resist the urge to fill in gaps or assign blame.

2. Stay curious, not corrective
Avoid statements that begin with:

• “At least…”

• “If I were you…”

• “Did you try…?”

Instead, try:

• “That sounds incredibly heavy.”

• “I’m really glad you told me.”

• “How can I best support you right now?”

3. Don’t make them manage your discomfort
Silence, distance, or awkwardness often communicates judgment—even when unintended.

4. Let them change
Divorce is an identity shift. Grief, growth, anger, and healing don’t happen in a straight line.

5. Keep showing up
Consistency matters more than perfect words.

Social support significantly improves emotional adjustment during divorce, while isolation worsens outcomes.

A Gentle Note for Anyone Reading This While Going Through a Divorce

If you are reading this while living inside a divorce—whether it’s freshly unfolding or still echoing years later—I want you to know this:

You are not weak for struggling.
You are not failing because this hurts.
And you are not “doing it wrong” if some days feel heavier than others.

Divorce is often experienced as a layered loss: the loss of a relationship, a future you imagined, routines that grounded you, and sometimes relationships or communities you thought were safe. It can bring up grief, relief, anger, fear, numbness, and moments of deep exhaustion—sometimes all in the same day. None of those reactions mean you made the wrong decision or that you are broken.

You don’t owe anyone the full story of what led you here. You are allowed to protect your privacy, go at your own pace, and change your mind about what you need from others as you heal.

If this season feels overwhelming, you don’t have to navigate it alone. Support—whether from trusted people, therapy, or community—matters. And it’s okay to reach for help not because you’re at rock bottom, but because this is hard.

Be gentle with yourself. This is not just a chapter ending—it’s a nervous system, heart, and identity recalibrating. Healing is rarely linear, but it is possible.

A Final Thought

Divorce is not a character flaw.
It is not a public referendum on someone’s worth.
It is not an invitation for speculation or sides.

If you’ve never walked through it, lead with humility.
If you have, remember how vulnerable that season felt.

Compassion costs us very little—but it can mean everything to someone standing in the wreckage of a life they once believed in.

References

• Amato, P. R. (2010). Research on divorce: Continuing trends and new developments. Journal of Marriage and Family. [link.springer.com]

• Sbarra, D. A. (2015). Divorce and Health: Current Trends and Future Directions. Psychosomatic Medicine. [pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov]

• Field, T. (2025). Divorce and Breakup Distress: A Narrative Review. Journal of Psychology & Clinical Psychiatry. [medcraveonline.com]

• Mental Health America. Coping with Separation and Divorce.[mhanational.org]

• BetterHelp Editorial Team. Navigating Friendships After Divorce.[betterhelp.com]

• Ganguli, P. (2024). Divorce and Social Stigma: Psychological and Social Implications.[linkedin.com]

What If Your Hardest Feelings Are Trying to Help You?

In his newest book, Hard Feelings: Finding the Wisdom in Our Darkest Emotions, psychotherapist and author Daniel Smith invites us to reconsider something most of us have spent years trying to avoid: our so‑called negative emotions. Rather than treating anger, shame, envy, regret, jealousy, annoyance, boredom, or despair as problems to eliminate, Smith makes a compelling and deeply humane case that these emotions serve an essential purpose—if we are willing to listen to what they are trying to tell us.

Why This Book Feels So Relatable

One of the reasons Hard Feelings resonates is that it is not written from a place of emotional mastery, but from lived experience. Smith openly shares the contexts that stirred both his self‑consciousness and the emotional urgency behind this book. He traces three pivotal life experiences that forced him to confront emotions he would have preferred to avoid: the sudden end of his marriage, the profound emotional responsibility that came with becoming a parent, and his own aging process—each dismantling the illusion that emotional control alone is enough to live well.

Many of us can recognize ourselves here. We often talk about emotions as if they should be managed away—especially once we’re “adults.” Smith challenges this narrative, suggesting instead that emotional turbulence does not mean something is wrong with us; it may mean something important is happening.

Rethinking “Negative” Emotions

Smith asks a deceptively simple question: What if the emotions we resist the most aren’t obstacles, but guides? He explores emotions such as shame, envy, despair, boredom, and annoyance—not as character flaws, but as signals that illuminate our unmet needs, values, fears, and longings.

Rather than dividing feelings into “good” and “bad,” Smith demonstrates how this binary can actually disconnect us from ourselves. Suppressing emotions rarely makes them disappear; more often, it drives them underground, where they emerge as anxiety, irritability, numbness, or chronic dissatisfaction. From both his clinical work and personal history, Smith illustrates how listening to emotions—rather than silencing them—creates the possibility for insight, integration, and growth.

Practical Takeaways You Can Apply Today

While Hard Feelings is not a step‑by‑step self‑help guide, it offers several practical shifts in how we relate to our emotional lives:

• Pause before fixing or dismissing a feeling. Ask, What might this emotion be trying to protect or show me?

• Normalize emotional discomfort. Feeling envy, shame, or despair does not mean you are failing—it means you are human.

• Notice emotional patterns instead of judging them. Repeated “hard” feelings often point to unresolved grief, unmet needs, or values that are being ignored.

• Practice curiosity over self‑criticism. Shame deepens when we attack ourselves for having emotions; it softens when we approach ourselves with compassion.

These practices echo what many therapists see in the therapy room: meaningful change often begins not when emotions disappear, but when they are finally given space to be understood.

Why This Matters for Psychotherapy

Hard Feelings aligns closely with the work of psychotherapy. Therapy is not about removing difficult emotions—it’s about learning how to relate to them differently. Many people seek therapy because their emotions feel overwhelming, confusing, or intrusive. This book gently reframes that experience: emotions are not the enemy; they are information.

In therapy, these “hard feelings” can be explored in a safe, non‑judgmental space. Anger may reveal a violated boundary. Envy may point to a neglected desire. Despair may signal grief that never had room to be felt. When emotions are listened to rather than suppressed, they often become less frightening—and more meaningful.

A Gentle Invitation

If this book resonates with you—if you find yourself exhausted by your emotions, ashamed of them, or unsure how to make sense of them—you don’t have to navigate that alone. Psychotherapy can help transform overwhelming emotional experiences into insight, self‑understanding, and healing. Beginning therapy isn’t a sign that something is wrong; it’s often a sign that something inside you is ready to be heard.

References

• Smith, D. (2026). Hard Feelings: Finding the Wisdom in Our Darkest Emotions. Simon & Schuster. [amazon.com]

• Simon & Schuster. (2026). Hard Feelings – Official Book Description. https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Hard-Feelings/Daniel-Smith/9781982103903 [simonandschuster.com]

• Altschuler, G. C. (2026). Coping with our “bad” emotions isn’t easy. Psychology Today. [psychologytoday.com]

• Zozzaro, P. (2026). Review: Hard Feelings by Daniel Smith. BookTrib. https://booktrib.com/2026/03/03/review-hard-feelings-daniel-smith/ [booktrib.com]

Finding the Sweet Spot: How to Stay Connected Without Losing Yourself

In her newest book, The Balancing Act: Creating Healthy Dependency and Connection Without Losing Yourself, licensed therapist and bestselling author Nedra Glover Tawwab explores a question many people quietly wrestle with: How do we stay connected to others without losing ourselves in the process?

Building on her previous work on boundaries and family dynamics, Tawwab reframes dependency as something that isn’t inherently unhealthy—but rather something that exists on a spectrum. When balanced well, healthy dependency (often referred to as interdependence) can support connection, authenticity, and emotional well‑being.

Part One: Understanding the Dependency Spectrum

In the first section of the book, Tawwab introduces the dependency spectrum, ranging from hyper‑independence on one end to hyper‑dependence on the other. She helps readers identify where they tend to land and how early experiences, trauma, attachment patterns, and fear of rejection or abandonment can shape how they relate to others.

Hyper‑independence often shows up as “I don’t need anyone,” while hyper‑dependence may look like over‑giving, losing boundaries, or abandoning one’s own needs to maintain connection. Tawwab emphasizes that both extremes can lead to loneliness, disconnection, and emotional exhaustion.

Part Two: Moving Toward Healthier Connection

In the second half of the book, Tawwab outlines a path toward healing and balance, offering tools for those who struggle with either extreme. She helps readers learn how to distinguish between faux connection—relationships that are maintained out of fear, obligation, or distraction—and deep, meaningful connection, which allows space for authenticity, boundaries, and mutual care.

Tawwab also highlights forms of dependency that can quietly keep people stuck, including:

• Overreliance on social media and technology

• Dependency on substances

• Unbalanced relationship patterns within one’s social life

Rather than encouraging all‑or‑nothing thinking, she invites readers to examine how and why they depend on certain people or behaviors—and whether those patterns support or erode their well‑being.

Practical Applications for Everyday Life

One of the book’s strengths is its practical, real‑world focus. Readers are encouraged to:

• Practice asking for help in clear, direct ways

• Build a diversified support system instead of relying on one person for all emotional needs

• Allow room for discomfort and repair in relationships, recognizing that friction can be part of healthy growth

• Balance time alone with time together—learning to be both independent and connected

• Reframe boundaries as pathways to closeness rather than barriers to intimacy

These tools can be especially helpful for individuals recovering from codependent patterns, trauma, or emotionally unbalanced relationships.

Why This Book Matters

At its core, The Balancing Act reminds readers that relationships are about human engagement, not perfection or self‑sufficiency. We thrive when we allow ourselves to lean on others while also maintaining autonomy. Working toward healthier dependency can support mental, physical, and social well‑being—offering opportunities for protection, restoration, and more harmonious connections.

For individuals seeking to deepen relationships without losing themselves—and for those healing from extremes of independence or dependence—this book offers a compassionate, grounded guide forward.

References

• Tawwab, N. G. (2026). The Balancing Act: Creating Healthy Dependency and Connection Without Losing Yourself. Tarcher / Penguin Random House. [amazon.com]

• Tawwab, N. G. (2026). The Balancing Act – Official Book Description. Nedra Tawwab. https://www.nedratawwab.com/books/the-balancing-act [nedratawwab.com]

• Johnson, R. (2026). “The Balancing Act” (Healthy Dependency): Nedra Glover Tawwab. Minding Therapy. https://www.mindingtherapy.com/balancing-act-nedra-glover-tawwab/ [mindingtherapy.com]

• Lindsay, S. (2026). Nedra Glover Tawwab Says This Is How to Create Healthy Relationships. The Sunday Paper. https://www.mariashriversundaypaper.com/nedra-glover-tawwab-create-healthy-relationships/ [mariashriv...ypaper.com]

When Joy Feels Out of Reach: Understanding Anhedonia

Have you ever noticed that things you used to enjoy just don’t feel the same anymore? Maybe your favorite foods taste flat, time with friends feels draining instead of fulfilling, or activities that once brought excitement now feel empty. If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone—and there’s a name for this experience: anhedonia.

What Is Anhedonia?

Anhedonia is the reduced or lost ability to experience pleasure from activities that are typically enjoyable. It’s most commonly associated with depression, but it can also occur in people experiencing anxiety, PTSD, substance use disorders, eating disorders, autism spectrum disorder, schizophrenia, or certain neurological conditions. Importantly, anhedonia can also occur without a formal diagnosis of depression.

Rather than sadness, many people describe anhedonia as emotional numbness—a sense of being disconnected from joy, motivation, or meaning.

Types of Anhedonia

Anhedonia can show up differently for different people, but it’s often described in two main ways:

• Social anhedonia: Difficulty experiencing pleasure or connection from social interactions, relationships, or group activities.

• Physical anhedonia: Reduced pleasure from physical sensations such as eating, physical touch, listening to music, or sexual activity.

Someone may experience one type, both types, or move between them over time.

Anhedonia vs. Apathy: What’s the Difference?

These two terms are often confused, but they’re not the same:

• Anhedonia refers to an inability to feel pleasure, even when you want to.

• Apathy refers to a lack of motivation, interest, or emotional engagement.

You might still want connection or enjoyment but not be able to feel it (anhedonia), or you might feel indifferent about engaging at all (apathy). A person can experience one without the other.

Common Signs of Anhedonia

Symptoms can range from subtle to deeply impactful and may include:

• Reduced interest in activities you previously enjoyed

• Difficulty planning or initiating activities

• Little excitement or anticipation about future events

• Trouble feeling joy, even during positive moments

• Decreased pleasure from food, physical touch, or sex

• Social withdrawal or disconnection

• Feeling lonely even when surrounded by others

If you recognize yourself in this list, it’s important to know that anhedonia is not a personal failure. It often reflects how the brain and nervous system respond to prolonged stress, trauma, or emotional overload.

Therapy Treatment Options

Anhedonia is treatable, though improvement often happens gradually.

• Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)
  CBT can help stimulate the brain’s reward system by identifying patterns that reduce engagement and gently rebuilding responses to positive experiences.

• Behavioral Activation Therapy
  This approach focuses on increasing involvement in meaningful or value‑based activities—even when motivation or pleasure is low—to help reawaken positive emotional responses over time.

• Mindfulness‑Based Interventions
  Mindfulness practices can help people notice small moments of presence, comfort, or neutrality and reduce avoidance of emotional experiences. These approaches have been helpful for people with chronic stress, trauma histories, and substance use recovery.

Things You Can Try on Your Own

Healing from anhedonia often involves small, compassionate steps rather than big emotional shifts. You might consider:

• Practicing mindfulness to gently notice moments of neutrality or comfort

• Maintaining social connections, even when you don’t feel like it

• Establishing a regular sleep schedule and predictable daily routine

• Engaging in regular physical movement

• Keeping a brief journal of small, positive, or meaningful moments

• Being patient with yourself and acknowledging tiny improvements

• Joining support groups where others understand what you’re experiencing

• Seeking guidance from a therapist, coach, or trusted mentor to explore how you respond to stress and negative experiences

A Gentle Reminder

If you’re experiencing anhedonia, it doesn’t mean joy is gone forever. It means your system may need care, time, and support. You don’t have to force yourself to “feel better” to move toward healing.

If this resonates with you, a mental health professional can help you explore what’s happening and find a path forward that feels manageable and supportive.

References & Further Reading

• Cleveland Clinic. (2023). Anhedonia: What it is, causes, symptoms & treatment.
  https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/symptoms/25155-anhedonia

• WebMD. (2025). Anhedonia: Meaning, types, causes, and treatment.
  https://www.webmd.com/depression/what-is-anhedonia

• Serretti, A. (2023). Anhedonia and depressive disorders. Clinical Psychopharmacology and Neuroscience, 21(3), 401–409.
  https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10335915/

• Psychology Today. (n.d.). Anhedonia.
  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/anhedonia

• Hanuka, S., et al. (2023). Reduced anhedonia following cognitive‑behavioral therapy is mediated by enhanced reward circuit activation. Psychological Medicine.
  https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/psychological-medicine/article/abs/reduced-anhedonia-following-internetbased-cognitivebehavioral-therapy-for-depression-is-mediated-by-enhanced-reward-circuit-activation/B9806BEDB39FD3A4D60DCE12DF2C5AAB

Red Flags in Therapy: How to Know When a Therapist Isn’t the Right Fit—and How to Choose One Who Is

Therapy is often described as a safe space—and at its best, it truly is.
But the reality is this: not all therapy is good therapy, and not every licensed therapist practices ethically, attentively, or skillfully.

As a therapist myself, I’ve sat with many clients who didn’t just struggle before therapy—but were harmed by it.

Many of them hesitated to say anything because of thoughts like:

• “Maybe this is just my discomfort.”

• “They’re the professional—this must be normal.”

• “I don’t want to be difficult or dramatic.”

Let me be clear: If something in therapy feels wrong, dismissive, unsafe, or inappropriate, that matters.

Let’s talk about some very real red flags in therapy—including experiences clients have shared with me—and then we’ll cover how to choose a therapist who actually supports healing.

Common Red Flags in Therapy (Yes, These Are Real Examples)

1. The Therapist Is Distracted or Multitasking During Sessions

One client shared that their therapist routinely opened personal mail during sessions, sorting envelopes while the client talked about deeply distressing events.

Another described sessions being paused so the therapist could microwave food—then eat it in front of them while continuing the conversation.

These are not neutral behaviors.
They communicate something loudly and clearly:

You do not have my full attention.

Therapy requires presence. Multitasking during sessions—especially in ways unrelated to client care—undermines trust and signals a lack of professional boundaries.

2. The Session Becomes About the Therapist

I’ve heard from multiple clients who described sitting through entire sessions where:

• The therapist talked almost exclusively about their own life

• Personal stories were shared without clinical purpose

• No meaningful questions were asked

One client described leaving sessions thinking,

“I know more about my therapist than they know about me.”

Self‑disclosure can be helpful when it serves the client’s process.
When it replaces curiosity, assessment, and exploration, it’s a red flag.

Therapy is not a reciprocal friendship. It should be client‑centered at all times.

3. You Feel Judged, Shamed, or Dismissed

Therapy can be challenging—but it should never be shaming.

Red flags include:

• Being told you’re “overreacting” without exploration

• Subtle blame for your trauma responses

• Feeling criticized rather than understood

Discomfort that leads to growth feels very different from discomfort that comes from feeling minimized or evaluated.

4. The Therapist Pushes Forgiveness, Reconciliation, or “Moving On” Too Soon

This happens frequently, especially for trauma survivors.

Statements like:

• “Holding onto this isn’t healthy”

• “You just need to forgive them”

• “At some point you have to move on”

…can override your nervous system’s need for safety, pacing, and meaning‑making.

Healing is not a deadline‑based process. Forgiveness is a personal choice—not a therapeutic requirement.

5. Poor or Confusing Boundaries

Healthy therapy relies on clear, consistent boundaries.

Red flags include:

• Oversharing personal information without clinical purpose

• Boundary blurring that makes you feel responsible for the therapist’s feelings

• Contact outside of sessions that feels confusing or uncomfortable

Boundaries aren’t cold—they’re what make therapy feel safe, predictable, and grounded.

What Good Therapy Typically Feels Like

Good therapy isn’t perfect or painless—but it is respectful.

In healthy therapy:

• The therapist is present and attentive

• Your feedback is welcomed, not defended against

• You understand what you’re working on and why

• You feel more connected to yourself over time

A good therapist does not act as the authority on your life.
They work with you, not over you.

How to Choose a Therapist (Practical Guidance)

1. Look for Fit, Not Just Credentials

Licensure matters. Training matters.
But relational fit matters just as much.

You are allowed to ask:

• What approach they use

• How they handle feedback or ruptures

• What populations or issues they specialize in

You are not being difficult—you are being informed.

2. Notice the First Few Sessions

Early sessions should feel:

• Structured but flexible

• Curious rather than interrogative

• Emotionally safe, even if hard

Persistent uneasiness, dismissal, or boundary confusion early on usually doesn’t improve with time.

3. Know That Leaving Is Allowed

You do not owe a therapist:

• Loyalty

• Extra sessions to make it “less awkward”

• Silence if something doesn’t feel right

Ending therapy that isn’t helping is not failure. It is self‑advocacy.

A Final Word

Therapy can be deeply transformative—but only when it’s practiced ethically, skillfully, and with full respect for the person seeking help.

Trust your body’s cues.
Ask questions.
Expect attention, presence, and professionalism.

Good therapy should help you feel more empowered, not smaller.

Post-Divorce Pouncing: Why Hitting on Women Immediately After Divorce Is a Bad Idea

When a woman gets divorced, something predictable—and exhausting—often happens.

Before the paperwork is finalized, before the dust settles, sometimes before the ink is even dry, the messages start coming in. “Just checking on you.” “You deserve to be treated better.” “I’ve always admired you.”

What follows is rarely subtle. Support quickly morphs into flirtation. Concern turns into pursuit.

As both a therapist and a woman, I’ve seen this pattern repeatedly. It’s common, it’s harmful, and it deserves a name.

Counselors call it Post-Divorce Pouncing—a term that describes the tendency for people (most often men) to pursue women romantically or sexually immediately after a divorce or separation, mistaking vulnerability for availability.

Divorce Is Not a Dating Announcement

Divorce is often misread as a reset button:
She’s single now.
She must be lonely.
This is my chance.

But psychologically speaking, divorce is not an entry point into dating—it’s a major nervous system event.

Divorce typically involves:

• Grief and identity loss

• Disruption of emotional and physical safety

• Chronic stress tied to legal, financial, and parenting changes

• A period of emotional recalibration that can last months or years

From a clinical perspective, the brain and attachment system are in repair mode. People are reassessing who they are, what they want, and what they will no longer tolerate.

That moment is not about readiness—it’s about reconstruction.

What Is Post-Divorce Pouncing?

Post-Divorce Pouncing occurs when someone:

• Moves in romantically before emotional stabilization has occurred

• Interprets someone’s pain or openness as sexual or relational interest

• Treats vulnerability like an invitation rather than a boundary

It’s often framed as kindness or attraction, but the timing reveals something else: urgency rooted in opportunity, not mutual readiness.

Why Post-Divorce Pouncing Is a Problem

Even when intentions are not malicious, the impact can be harmful.

1. It Turns Support Into a Transaction

Women going through divorce often need:

• Stability

• Respectful connection

• Validation of their worth without strings attached

When support rapidly becomes romantic, the unspoken message can feel like:

“I care—as long as there’s something in it for me.”

That erodes trust, not builds it.

2. It Exploits a Temporary Power Imbalance

Periods of emotional upheaval can make people more likely to:

• Second-guess their instincts

• Accept attention rather than evaluate compatibility

• Confuse intensity with intimacy

This is how rebound relationships form—not from clarity, but from unhealed pain and skewed timing.

3. It Interrupts Necessary Healing

Emotional processing after divorce is not optional—it’s essential.

Rushing into new romantic dynamics can:

• Delay grief

• Reinforce avoidance rather than growth

• Create relationships built on distraction rather than stability

In therapy, we consistently see that untreated post-divorce grief resurfaces later—often inside the next relationship.

A Word to the People Doing the Pursuing

If you feel tempted to make a move immediately after someone’s divorce, pause and ask yourself:

• Am I responding to who this person is, or to an opening in the timeline?

• Would I move at this pace if she were emotionally steady?

• Am I offering space—or pressure?

Healthy interest is patient. It doesn’t rush intimacy or position itself as the solution to someone else’s loss.

To Women Navigating This Phase: You’re Not Overreacting

If you’ve felt overwhelmed by sudden attention or pressured to be “ready” before you are—nothing is wrong with you.

You are allowed to say no.
You are allowed to take space.
You are allowed to heal without being pursued.

Needing time is not resistance—it’s wisdom.

Final Thought

Divorce is not a signal to advance—it’s a signal to slow down.

If you genuinely respect a woman who is newly divorced, the most caring response might be giving her room to become whole again—without claiming, chasing, or rushing her becoming.

Post-Divorce Pouncing doesn’t create connection.
Presence, patience, and respect do.

Post Vacation Reflection: Coming Back Sunburned, Grateful, and Slightly Wobbly

There is something deeply humbling about returning from Spring Break vacation and realizing three things at once:

1. You are very glad you went.

2. You miss it already.

3. Your legs are not convinced you are back on land.

Stepping off the cruise ship, I genuinely wondered if I had forgotten how to walk. My body swayed like it was still negotiating waves, and for a brief moment I questioned whether balance—literal and metaphorical—was optional. It turns out, both take a minute to come back.

That felt like an appropriate metaphor for this season of life.

As I ease back into routines, inboxes, and the laundry that somehow multiplied while we were gone, one feeling keeps rising above the rest: gratitude.

It is a privilege to be healthy.
It is a privilege to have a healthy family.
It is a privilege to have the financial ability and flexibility to take a vacation at all.

And it is a privilege to be invited into community.

Grateful for the Invitation—and the People Who Made It Sweeter

This trip wasn’t something we did alone. We were invited by a generous group, and one of the unexpected gifts of the week was connecting not just with them, but with their extended family as well. Shared meals, easy conversations, laughter that didn’t require explanation—those moments mattered.

There is something grounding about being welcomed into spaces where connection feels natural and unforced. It reminded me that rest isn’t only about location; it’s about who you’re with. Community has a way of multiplying joy and making memories feel richer, and we are deeply thankful for the people who made this experience possible.

The Beach Photo That Says Everything

Like all good family vacations, there is the photo.

Our family beach photo includes my 14‑year‑old son, who made it very clear that participation was not his preference. He didn’t refuse outright—because he’s kind—but he did protest. Subtly. In the background. With his whole body.

So there we are: smiling, sun‑kissed, grateful… and behind us, a teenager silently communicating, I am here against my will.

Honestly? I love that picture. Because it’s honest. It captures the stage of life we’re in—where togetherness sometimes looks like compromise, eye‑rolling, and showing up anyway.

And that matters.

Holding Time Gently With My Daughter

One of the sweetest gifts of this trip was the time with my 11‑year‑old daughter. Unhurried conversations. Laughter. Shared moments that didn’t need multitasking.

If I’m being honest, I often work more than I should. I love my work. I believe deeply in it. But vacations have a way of gently reminding me that time is both precious and fleeting.

She is still at an age where she wants to be close, where presence matters more than productivity. That awareness sat tenderly with me this week—not with guilt, but with intention. Time together isn’t something to schedule later. It’s something to cherish now.

Naming the Burnout (Because It Was There)

This vacation came at a moment when I was burned out.

Not the dramatic, fall‑apart kind—but the quieter version that sneaks in when responsibility stacks up, when you’re holding space for others, making decisions, and carrying emotional weight for a long time without much pause. The kind where you’re still functioning, still caring, still showing up—but you’re tired in a way that sleep alone doesn’t fix.

Winter intensified that for me. Short days. Full calendars. A nervous system that had been “on” for longer than I realized.

I didn’t fully notice how depleted I was until we slowed down.

Vacation didn’t erase the burnout—but it interrupted it. It gave my nervous system a chance to settle. It reminded me what it feels like to wake up without urgency, to laugh without multitasking, to be present without planning the next thing.

From a psychoeducation standpoint, this matters: burnout recovery is less about escaping responsibility and more about helping the body complete stress responses and return to a felt sense of safety.

Gentle Burnout Recovery Reminders (Inspired by Emily Nagoski)

One framework I often return to—personally and professionally—comes from Emily Nagoski’s work on burnout. A few gentle reminders that stood out to me on this trip:

• Burnout isn’t a personal failure. It’s what happens when stress accumulates faster than our bodies can process it. You’re not broken—you’re overloaded.

• Rest alone doesn’t complete the stress cycle. Sleep is important, but our bodies often need movement, connection, laughter, or emotional expression to truly reset.

• Physical movement helps the body feel “done.” Even gentle walking, stretching, or dancing can signal to the nervous system that the stressor has passed.

• Connection is regulation. Safe relationships—shared meals, hugs, laughter, meaningful conversation—help the body return to calm far more effectively than isolation.

• Burnout recovery happens in small, repeated moments. Not one vacation. Not one weekend. But consistent permission to rest, connect, and slow down over time.

Burnout narrows our world. These practices slowly widen it again.

The Ups, the Downs, and the Reset We Needed

Yes, there were beautiful moments—sunshine, slow mornings, meals without rushing, laughter that felt lighter than it has in months. There were also tired moments, overstimulation, minor meltdowns, and at least one “Why did we think this would be restful?” realization.

Vacation doesn’t remove real life. It just gives it a different backdrop.

But after a long winter—emotionally, mentally, and seasonally—this reset mattered. Winter has a way of tightening us up. By the time spring arrives, many of us don’t realize how much we’ve been bracing until we finally stop.

This trip gave us space to breathe again.

Health, Provision, and the Gift of Possibility

One quiet but powerful truth stayed with me: none of this is guaranteed.

Health is not guaranteed.
Time is not guaranteed.
Opportunities to rest, travel, and reconnect are not guaranteed.

Being able to walk off a ship (eventually), spend time with people we love, meet new family friends, laugh together, and simply be—that is a gift.

Gratitude doesn’t deny hardship. It deepens appreciation for what is present.

Coming Home Re‑Grounded (and Mostly Steady)

I didn’t come home magically transformed or suddenly immune to stress. But I did come home more grounded. More aware of what matters. More committed to protecting time with my family—and to remembering that balance, like sea legs, takes intentional recalibration.

And yes, I’m still finding my footing.

If this season finds you tired, longing for rest, or unsure how to regain balance, let this be your reminder: renewal doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes it starts with stepping away. Sometimes it starts with gratitude. Sometimes it starts with noticing the beauty—even when someone is protesting in the background.

I’m grateful we went.
I’m grateful for the people who invited us and welcomed us.
I’m grateful we came back.
And I’m grateful for the reminder of what truly steadies us.

Resources

• Nagoski, E., & Nagoski, A. (2019). Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle. Ballantine Books.

• Nagoski, E. & Nagoski, A. Burnout Project & resources: https://www.burnoutbook.net/

• CPTSD Foundation. Completing the Stress Cycle (overview of Nagoski’s framework)

The State of the Union: A Weekly Check‑In That Can Transform Your Relationship

Most couples don’t drift apart because they don’t care.
They drift apart because life gets loud.

Between work, kids, stress, trauma histories, neurodivergent brains, grief, and exhaustion, relationships often become reactive instead of intentional. Conversations turn into arguments. Important topics get avoided. And before you know it, connection gets replaced by distance.

That’s where the Gottman Method’s “State of the Union” meeting comes in.

This isn’t about fixing everything or having perfect communication. It’s about creating a predictable, emotionally safe space to check in, repair, and stay connected—before resentment builds.

What Is a State of the Union Meeting?

Developed by Drs. John and Julie Gottman, the State of the Union is a weekly relationship check‑in designed to help couples:

• Stay emotionally connected

• Address concerns gently

• Build appreciation and fondness

• Reduce blow‑ups and emotional shutdowns

Think of it as preventative maintenance for your relationship, not a crisis meeting.

According to the Gottman Institute, this structured conversation helps couples talk about what’s working, what’s not, and what needs attention—without turning every issue into a fight.

Why Weekly Check‑Ins Matter

Many couples tell me,

“We talk all the time—why do we need a meeting?”

Here’s the difference:
Most daily conversations are logistical (“Who’s picking up the kids?”) or reactive (“Why didn’t you text me back?”).

The State of the Union is intentional.

Research consistently shows that how couples talk about problems predicts relationship outcomes more than the problems themselves. Regular check‑ins reduce defensiveness, increase emotional attunement, and help couples feel like a team again.

The Four Core Parts (Made Practical)

1. Start With Appreciation (Yes, Even If You’re Annoyed)

Each partner shares five specific appreciations from the past week.

Not:

“Thanks for being a good spouse.”

But:

“I appreciated how you handled bedtime when I was overwhelmed. It made me feel supported.”

Why this matters: Appreciation activates safety in the nervous system and sets a collaborative tone for harder conversations.

Tip: If five feels like too much, start with three. Consistency matters more than perfection.

2. Talk About What Went Well

This step is often skipped—and it’s a mistake.

Ask:

• When did we feel connected this week?

• What did we handle well together?

• What do we want to keep doing?

Couples who intentionally name their strengths build emotional resilience, making it easier to navigate conflict when it shows up.

3. Address Concerns Gently (One at a Time)

This isn’t the time to unload the entire relationship history.

Choose one issue or a “regrettable incident” from the week.

Use a softened start‑up, which the Gottman research shows is crucial for preventing escalation:

“I feel ___ about ___, and what I need is ___.”

Example:

“I felt disconnected when we didn’t talk after dinner. I need some intentional check‑in time.”

During this part, Gottman emphasizes ATTUNEMENT:

• Awareness

• Tolerance

• Turning toward

• Understanding

• Non‑defensive listening

• Empathy

Tip: If either partner feels flooded or overwhelmed, pause. Regulation comes before resolution.

4. End With Connection

Before wrapping up:

• Express affection

• Thank each other for showing up

• Name one thing you’re hopeful about

This helps the conversation end in connection rather than depletion, reinforcing that you’re on the same side.

Making It Work in Real Life

Let’s be honest—weekly meetings can sound unrealistic.

Here’s how couples actually make it stick:

• ✅ Same day, same time each week

• ✅ Phones away

• ✅ Keep it under 60 minutes

• ✅ Snacks count as emotional support

Some couples start with 15–20 minutes and build from there. That still counts.

When It’s Especially Helpful

The State of the Union is particularly powerful for couples navigating:

• Parenting stress

• ADHD or neurodivergence

• Trauma or loss

• High‑conflict cycles

• Emotional distance

It provides structure when emotions feel messy and safety when conversations feel risky.

Final Thoughts

Healthy relationships aren’t conflict‑free.
They’re repair‑rich.

The State of the Union isn’t about doing everything right—it’s about showing up regularly, with intention, curiosity, and care.

If you’re feeling stuck, disconnected, or unsure how to have these conversations without things spiraling, couples therapy can help guide the process and tailor it to your unique relationship.

Your relationship deserves that kind of care.

Spring Break Isn’t Always a Break: Managing Stress, Expectations, and Overstimulation

Spring break is supposed to feel like relief.

A pause.
A reset.
A chance to rest, connect, and maybe even enjoy ourselves.

And yet, for many people—especially parents, caregivers, and neurodivergent adults—spring break can feel anything but restful. In my therapy office, I hear it every year: “I thought I’d feel better… but I’m more exhausted than before.”

As both a therapist and someone with ADHD, I want to say this clearly:

If spring break doesn’t feel like a break for you, you’re not doing it wrong.

Why Spring Break Can Increase Stress Instead of Relieve It

Spring break often disrupts the very things that help us feel regulated: routine, predictability, and structure. School schedules change. Work expectations stay the same. Childcare becomes more complicated. Travel, crowds, noise, and social demands increase.

From a nervous‑system perspective, our bodies don’t automatically interpret “time off” as safe or calming. For many people—especially those already stretched thin—these sudden shifts can push us outside our window of tolerance, making regulation harder, not easier.

This isn’t a personal failure.
It’s biology.

The Pressure to Make Spring Break “Magical”

There’s also an unspoken expectation that spring break should be special.

Fun.
Memory‑making.
Instagram‑worthy.

But that pressure—especially for parents—can quietly turn into emotional labor. Planning, coordinating, managing behavior, keeping everyone entertained, and making it all look effortless takes energy. A lot of it.

At Summit Family Therapy, we often talk about the importance of good‑enough parenting—letting go of perfection in favor of connection and compassion. Spring break is a perfect place to practice that mindset.

Your kids don’t need a perfect break.
They need a regulated, emotionally available adult.

And sometimes that means lowering the bar.

A Personal Note: Spring Break and ADHD

I want to share this from a personal place.

As someone with ADHD, spring break can be especially challenging for me. Changes in routine are hard. Increased noise and stimulation drain my energy quickly. Transitions—between activities, plans, or expectations—take more mental effort than most people realize.

Even “fun” can be overstimulating.

When I don’t plan for that, I find myself more irritable, more exhausted, and more likely to feel like I’m failing at things that should feel easy. Over time, I’ve learned that managing ADHD during breaks isn’t about pushing through—it’s about working with my brain instead of against it.

That means building in recovery time, protecting my energy, and being honest about my limits. This isn’t weakness. It’s self‑awareness.

Having a Plan and Managing Expectations Can Reduce Anxiety

One of the most helpful things we can do during spring break is hold two truths at the same time:

• Having some plan can reduce anxiety

• Rigid expectations can increase it

For many people—especially those with anxiety, ADHD, or trauma histories—uncertainty is one of the biggest stressors. When everything feels up in the air, our brains stay on high alert. A loose plan—knowing what the day generally holds, what’s expected, and what support is available—can help calm the nervous system.

At the same time, overly detailed or perfectionistic plans often backfire. When things inevitably don’t go exactly as expected (because… life), frustration and self‑criticism creep in.

What tends to work best is flexible structure:

• A general rhythm to the day

• One or two priority activities

• Built‑in downtime

• Permission to change plans without guilt

As someone with ADHD, I function best when I know what’s coming—but I also need space to pivot if my energy, focus, or regulation shifts. A plan gives my brain a sense of safety; realistic expectations give me compassion.

If your plan includes the possibility that plans may change, you’re already reducing anxiety.

Overstimulation Is Real—For Kids and Adults

Spring break often brings more screens, more social interaction, more outings, and less downtime. For neurodivergent kids (and adults), that level of stimulation can lead to meltdowns, shutdowns, irritability, or withdrawal.

These aren’t behavior problems.
They’re signs of a nervous system that needs support.

Some gentle ways to reduce overstimulation during breaks:

• Keep a few predictable anchors in the day

• Build in low‑demand, quiet time

• Lower expectations for productivity

• Normalize rest without earning it

Regulation doesn’t come from doing more—it often comes from doing less.

Redefining What “Rest” Really Means

Rest doesn’t always look like naps or vacations. Sometimes rest looks like:

• Fewer plans

• More flexibility

• Letting go of comparison

• Permission to be human

Spring break doesn’t have to restore you completely. It just needs to not deplete you further.

A Gentle Reminder

If spring break feels hard, you’re not broken.
If you’re counting down until routine returns, you’re not ungrateful.
If you need support navigating stress, transitions, or burnout, you’re not alone.

Mental health care isn’t just for crisis—it’s also for seasons like this, when life feels heavier than expected and you want support making sense of it.

Be gentle with yourself this spring.
Good enough really is enough.

When a TV Show Feels Like Therapy: The Power of Corrective Emotional Experiences

Have you ever watched a TV show or movie that affected you more deeply than you expected?

I’ve had that experience more times than I can count—Heated Rivalry, Heartstopper, and This Is Us, just to name a few. What starts as “just a show” somehow turns into tears on the couch, a lump in your throat, or a quiet realization that stays with you long after the credits roll.

There’s something incredibly powerful about storytelling. Certain shows and films connect with us in ways that feel surprisingly healing—sometimes even reaching places that have taken years to explore in therapy. I’ve had moments of emotional clarity arrive in just a few episodes that took much longer to uncover elsewhere.

In therapy, we have a name for experiences like this: Corrective Emotional Experiences (CEEs). A CEE is “a therapeutic process that allows someone to re‑experience past emotional pain in a safe environment, with a different—often more supportive—outcome.” In simpler terms, it’s when something familiar plays out in a new, healing way.

While CEEs are often associated with the therapy room, they don’t only happen there. More and more, clients share how meaningful moments in popular media have served as corrective experiences for them. Shows like This Is Us, Heated Rivalry, Heartstopper, and Parenthood have been deeply transformative for many people.

Most of us have “comfort shows”—the ones we return to again and again. But we don’t always stop to ask why.

Sometimes, it’s because those stories give us something we didn’t receive when we needed it most.

Relationship expert Esther Perel touches on this beautifully while discussing Heated Rivalry. She describes watching the show with a friend who had already seen it multiple times. As she watched, she noticed something striking: just when she braced herself for something painful or disappointing to happen, the characters responded with care, understanding, or love instead.

That unexpected shift—that moment when harm doesn’t occur—is the heart of a corrective emotional experience.

We see this in powerful ways across popular shows:

In both Heated Rivalry and Heartstopper, when a main character comes out to their mom, the anticipated rejection never comes. Instead of being shut down or pushed away, they are met with unconditional love and acceptance.

In This Is Us, when Rebecca grieves the loss of Jack, she isn’t left alone in her pain. She is surrounded by support, community, and care. The same is true for her children—Kate, Randall, and Kevin—who repeatedly encounter compassion in moments where they might have expected disconnection or misunderstanding.

These moments matter because they mirror real emotional experiences—grief, fear, vulnerability. When we see our own stories reflected on screen, it can feel both exposing and comforting. And when those stories unfold differently than our own—when they end in connection instead of hurt—it can slowly reshape what we expect from others and even what we believe we deserve.

This may be one reason we rewatch certain shows again and again. It isn’t just about familiarity. Rewatching can be regulating. It can be healing. It can be a way of giving ourselves access to the responses we needed but didn’t receive at the time.

Of course, meaningful media doesn’t replace real, relational healing. In therapy, corrective emotional experiences happen in real time—in a space where your story is known, held, and responded to with care.

Still, if you’ve ever noticed yourself having a strong emotional reaction to a show or movie, it might be worth getting curious about that. There may be something important there—something your mind and body are trying to process or heal.

And you don’t have to do that work alone.

So I’m curious—what shows or movies have offered you a corrective emotional experience?

As for me, I’ll be over here rewatching Gilmore Girls.

Resources
Hartman, D., & Zimberoff, D. (2004). Corrective Emotional Experience in the Therapeutic Process.

Stronger, Healthier Friendships: How to Build the Connections That Truly Support You

I’ve written previously about why friendship matters and why it’s often challenging, especially in adulthood. Research consistently shows that strong social connection is one of the greatest predictors of mental and physical health across the lifespan (Harvard Study of Adult Development). And yet, knowing friendship is important doesn’t always make it easy to build.

The logistics of adult life such as busy schedules, transitions, geographic moves, and emotional burnout can all make friendship feel complicated or even discouraging. So how do we actually build healthy, lasting friendships?

Whether you’re hoping to deepen existing relationships or create new ones, here are therapist-informed strategies, grounded in research and real-life experience, that will hopefully help you cultivate meaningful, supportive connections.

1. Prioritize Quality Over Quantity

It’s better to have two or three deeply supportive relationships than dozens of surface-level ones. Research on well-being consistently shows that relationship quality matters far more than social volume.

Look for friendships that offer:

• emotional safety

• mutual care

• trust

• reciprocity

• shared vulnerability

Psychologist Marisa Franco, PhD, author of Platonic, emphasizes that close friendships thrive on consistency, emotional responsiveness, and mutual investment, not proximity or history alone. These are the relationships that truly enrich well-being.

2. Initiate More Often Than Feels Natural

Many people hesitate to reach out because they assume the other person is too busy, uninterested, or “not thinking of them.” In reality, research shows most people underestimate how much others appreciate being contacted.

Text first. Call first. Send the invitation.

Franco’s research on adult friendship highlights initiation as one of the most common barriers to connection, yet also one of the most powerful tools for building closeness. Connection often grows when someone is brave enough to go first.

3. Create Rituals of Connection

Rituals create consistency, which is essential for trust and emotional safety. Without structure, friendships can easily become sporadic, especially in adulthood.

Examples might include:

• monthly coffee dates

• weekly phone check-ins

• Friday night walks

• group dinners

• shared hobbies or classes

The Greater Good Science Center notes that regular shared activities strengthen bonds by creating predictability and emotional presence. Routines turn friendship into a steady presence rather than an occasional event.

4. Practice Vulnerability in Safe Amounts

Healthy friendships require authenticity, but that doesn’t mean oversharing. It means sharing enough of your internal world that someone can truly know you.

You might start with:

• “I’ve been stressed lately and could really use someone to talk to.”

• “I’m feeling a bit disconnected. Can we plan something soon?”

Researcher Brené Brown reminds us that vulnerability isn’t about disclosure without boundaries, it’s about honest sharing within emotionally safe relationships. Small openings often lead to deeper bonds over time.

5. Be a Supportive Friend (Not a Perfect One)

Strong friendships aren’t built on perfection; they’re built on presence.

Offer empathy. Ask good questions. Celebrate wins. Show up when things are hard.

Therapist Harriet Lerner, PhD, writes that sustainable connection depends less on doing things “right” and more on consistency, accountability, honesty, and care. Repairing ruptures matters far more than avoiding them altogether.

6. Diversify Your Social Support System

Even in the healthiest friendships, no one person can meet all of our needs. Expecting that can strain even strong relationships.

A balanced support system might include:

• core “inner-circle” friends

• broader social acquaintances

• community groups

• families of origin or chosen family

• workplace relationships

Sociological research (including Robert Putnam’s work on social capital) shows that layered social networks increase resilience and reduce burnout. Each type of connection offers something different, and all are valuable.

7. Be Patient With the Process

Friendships take time. Trust builds slowly. Shared history accumulates gradually. If new friendships don’t click instantly, that’s normal.

Marisa Franco’s research emphasizes that closeness often follows repeated interaction rather than immediate chemistry. Think of friendship-building like planting a garden: it’s a long-term investment that grows with steady care.

Friendship Is Self-Care

Prioritizing friendships isn’t indulgent; it’s one of the most human things we can do. The longest-running studies on happiness consistently show that people thrive when they feel connected, supported, and valued.

As a therapist, I see this truth again and again in the therapy room. As a human myself, attempting to nurture my own friendships, I can confirm it personally, too.

So consider this your gentle invitation:

Reach out. Reconnect. Initiate. Invest.

Your future self, and your future friendships, will thank you.

Further Reading & Resources

If you’d like to explore this topic further, these resources offer research-based insight in a way that’s approachable, validating, and practical. You don’t need to read or watch everything, consider choosing what feels most relevant to where you are right now.

Books

• Platonic: How the Science of Attachment Can Help You Make—and Keep—Friends by Marisa G. Franco Ph.D.Helpful if you: struggle with initiating friendships, feel unsure how to deepen connections, or wonder why friendship feels harder as an adult.

• Friendship: The Evolution, Biology, and Extraordinary Power of Life’s Fundamental Bond by Lydia DenworthHelpful if you: like understanding the “why” behind human behavior and want reassurance that friendship truly matters for mental and physical health.

• Atlas of the Heart by Brené Brown Helpful if you: want better language for your emotions or feel unsure how to express yourself in close relationships

• The Dance of Connection by Harriet Lerner, Ph.D.Helpful if you: want deeper relationships but also want to maintain boundaries and a strong sense of self.
  
  

Videos & Talks

• TED Talk: Why Friendships Change as We Age by Marisa G. Franco, Ph.D.Helpful if you: notice friendships shifting over time and want to understand how to adapt without self-blame. 

• TED Talk: The Power of Vulnerability by Brené BrownHelpful if you: want to understand how emotional openness builds closeness—without oversharing.  

Podcasts

• Unlocking Us (Brené Brown) Helpful if you: enjoy reflective conversations about emotional health, boundaries, and meaningful connection.

• The Happiness Lab (Dr. Laurie Santos) Helpful if you: like research-based insights presented in an engaging, practical way.

Supporting Your Anxious Child: What Research Suggests Parents Can Do to Help

If you’re parenting an anxious child, you’ve probably asked yourself some version of this question:
Am I helping… or am I making it worse?

I’ve asked it, too—often in the middle of the night, sitting beside my anxious child as worries spill out. School. Friendships. Separation. Sleep. All the endless “what ifs.” Every instinct in me wants to make the fear disappear. I reassure. I explain. I adjust plans. I tiptoe. I problem‑solve.

And sometimes, despite all that love and effort, the anxiety gets louder instead of quieter.

If that sounds familiar, you’re not alone.

As both a family therapist and a parent of an anxious child, I want to say this clearly: your child’s anxiety is not a sign that you’re failing. Supporting an anxious child does not mean eliminating fear. The real work—hard, slow, imperfect work—is helping our children learn that they can live with fear and still move forward.

Decades of research on childhood anxiety point to something that can feel deeply counterintuitive: consistently avoiding fears or accommodating anxiety can actually strengthen it over time. This isn’t because parents are doing anything wrong—it’s because anxiety grows when it’s treated as something too dangerous to face. What helps most is a balance of warmth and confidence:
“I see how hard this feels, and I believe you can handle it.”

Attachment research echoes this idea. Children don’t need parents who remove every obstacle or discomfort. They need a secure base—someone who stays emotionally present while gently encouraging small steps forward. Neuroscience adds another layer: before children can regulate themselves, they borrow our nervous systems. Our calm matters more than our explanations.

What I’m learning, again and again, is that my steadiness matters more than my solutions. When I slow myself down, name what I’m seeing (“This feels really hard right now”), and resist the urge to immediately fix or reassure, something shifts. Not instantly. Not perfectly. But enough. My kids begin to learn that big feelings don’t have to take over the room—and that discomfort can be tolerated and worked through.

This is where many parents get stuck. Reassurance feels kind, and in the moment, it is. But repeated reassurance (“You’ll be fine,” “There’s nothing to worry about,” “I promise nothing bad will happen”) can unintentionally send the message that anxiety is something to escape rather than face. Research‑based approaches, including cognitive behavioral therapy, emphasize helping children gradually approach fears—with support—instead of avoiding them altogether.

That doesn’t mean being cold or dismissive. It means leading with empathy and confidence. It means saying, “I know you’re scared, and I’m right here,” instead of, “Let’s make this go away.” It means helping your child practice being brave, not fearless.

Parenting an anxious child also asks us to look inward. Anxiety is contagious. When our child is distressed, it can stir our own fears: What if this never gets better? What if I’m handling this wrong? That’s human. And it’s why self‑compassion matters so much. You don’t need to be perfectly calm or always know the right thing to say. You just need to be willing to pause, notice, and repair when things go off track.

So if you’re parenting an anxious child and feeling exhausted, unsure, or overwhelmed, please hear this: you don’t have to take the fear away. You’re not supposed to. Your role is to stay close, stay steady, and help your child learn that they can move through hard things with support.

That’s not easy work. But it is meaningful work. And being “good enough” at it—imperfect, learning, trying again—is more than enough.

Resources You Might Find Helpful

1. Helping Your Anxious Child – Rapee & Hudson
   Practical, research‑based strategies for supporting anxiety without feeling like you have to fix everything.

2. Breaking Free of Child Anxiety and OCD – Eli Lebowitz
   A compassionate guide to reducing anxiety‑accommodating habits while staying warm and connected.

3. The Power of Showing Up – Daniel Siegel & Tina Payne Bryson
   Explores how presence, calm, and emotional connection help children feel secure.

4. The Still Face Experiment – Ed Tronick (short video)
   A powerful reminder that repair matters more than perfection.

5. Self‑Compassion – Kristin Neff
   Support for parents learning to be kind to themselves while guiding children through big feelings.

The Ache of Invisible Loss: Processing Ambiguous Grief

We tend to understand grief through a familiar script. There is a death, a funeral, a season of mourning, and a community that gathers with casseroles and condolences. It is a loss with a clear beginning, middle, and end—a defined “before” and “after.”

But what happens when what you lose never technically dies?

What do you do with the hollow ache of a loss that has no finish line, no ceremony, and no socially recognized place to land?

This is ambiguous grief—the emotional experience of losing something or someone without clarity or closure. It is the mourning of what is still present but profoundly changed, or what never came to be at all. The loss is real, even if it is invisible.

Because ambiguous grief lacks clear markers, it often goes unrecognized by others. That invisibility can make the pain feel confusing, isolating, and difficult to process. Naming the loss is often the first step toward healing.

Common Experiences of Ambiguous Grief

When a Relationship Ends (But the Person Is Still Alive)

One of the most common forms of ambiguous grief follows the end of a relationship—divorce, estrangement, friendship breakups, or being “ghosted.” The person still exists in the world, but they no longer exist in your life in the way they once did.

You are not only grieving the person—you are grieving the future you imagined together. It is the grief of seeing someone familiar become emotionally unreachable, a stranger you still recognize.

The Death of a Life Season

Life transitions often bring unacknowledged grief. Moving from single life to partnership, from no children to parenting, changing careers, or watching children leave home can all stir ambiguous loss.

Even positive, planned changes come with the loss of predictability and identity. Missing a former version of your life does not mean you regret the present—it means you are human.

The Versions of Yourself That Never Happened

Sometimes grief lives in the gap between who we hoped we would become and where life actually led us. Career paths shift, goals remain unmet, and the imagined future quietly disappears.

Letting go of a hoped‑for version of yourself is a real loss. Accepting that loss often takes time, compassion, and intentional meaning‑making.

The Person Someone Will Never Be

Perhaps the most painful form of ambiguous grief is recognizing that someone you love will never be able to meet your emotional needs. This often involves parents, partners, or caregivers.

Grieving who someone cannot be—even while they remain physically present—can feel deeply lonely. It is a loss without closure, answers, or repair.

Making Space for Ambiguous Grief

Because ambiguous grief does not involve a clear loss, it is often minimized—by others and by ourselves. Yet the body and nervous system frequently respond just as they would to traditional grief. Rumination, anger, sadness, longing, guilt, and emotional exhaustion are common.

People experiencing ambiguous grief may move through familiar emotional processes—bargaining, anger, sadness, acceptance—but not in a linear way. Unlike traditional grief, ambiguous grief often does not “end.” Instead, it becomes something we learn to carry differently over time.

Healing does not mean finding closure. It means learning to live with uncertainty, honoring what was lost, and allowing grief to coexist with meaning and resilience.

By naming ambiguous grief, we give ourselves permission to seek support, validate our pain, and begin healing—even when the loss cannot be neatly defined.

References for Further Reading

Boss, P. (1999). Ambiguous loss: Learning to live with unresolved grief. Harvard University Press.

Boss, P. (2006). Loss, trauma, and resilience: Therapeutic work with ambiguous loss. W. W. Norton & Company.

Boss, P., & Yeats, J. R. (2014). Ambiguous loss: A complicated type of grief when loved ones disappear. Bereavement Care, 33(2), 63–69.

American Psychological Association. (2022). Ambiguous loss and the myth of closure. Speaking of Psychology Podcast.

Mayo Clinic Health System. (2023). Coping with ambiguous loss.

Neimeyer, R. A., Klass, D., & Dennis, M. R. (2014). A social constructionist account of grief: Loss and the narration of meaning. Death Studies, 38(8), 485–498.

Deposition, Not Damnation

Introduction

Over the course of my career as a private investigator I frequently worked for insurance companies investigating worker’s compensation or disability fraud. I was asked to testify in court but I never had to as the thought of my presence had the defendant in many cases accepting an offer from the insurance company which resulted in the matter being settled. My report did the work for me. I was all set to testify and ready to go.

This time around, I was dealing with the courts as an intern counselor though. I was incredibly nervous concerning this. A part of that was my clinical judgement being under scrutiny for the first time. Despite past related experience, I was nervous. In hindsight, I should not have been. This was in essence something to just be expected. This experience in my internship was exponentially valuable. This prepared me for the challenges ahead in my current position in community mental health. I will discuss the why behind the subpoena first and then discuss lessons learned.

Context

I was subpoenaed due to me being the therapist for an individual who was injured in a major industrial accident which almost cost the client their very life. This industrial accident involved the client’s commercial transport vehicle colliding with a semi-truck. They thankfully survived. They had an intense case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder afterwards. Being caught in anything that reminded of them of that day was a significant trigger... The insurance company that represented the careless and now deceased individual who injured my client argued that since my client made progress in therapy, it was now Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

Again, this was the first time my clinical judgement was under scrutiny in regards to the legal system and it had me nervous. As the day grew closer though, I grew more confident. This was just a deposition, not a damnation. Being subpoenaed was intimidating, turning over my notes was intimidating, but in the end, it turned out fine. A colleague I had at the time thought it was highly intimidating. In his close to fifteen years of practicing he had never been subpoenaed. After it happened, it did not seem intimidating to me at all. The process of getting a subpoena though can knock a person off kilter due to the demanding legal language it uses. The verbs compel and command are hardly as warm as a dinner invitation or an invitation to a seminar for free CEUs in our field.

Subpoena

The subpoena I received came via first class mail. It asked for the entirety of my progress notes while treating this client, and I was ordered to be deposed at a date that would be selected in the coming months. Despite the shock of this to a new counselor, my internship supervisor informed me that she and I should have seen this coming due to the pending litigation. Regardless, it made my internship certainly more interesting and empowering! I never thought I would ever again have any contact with the legal system after having left private investigations. Again, this was a worthwhile process in the end as although as the odds of me testifying in court or being deposed is always possible. I will speak on that later.

Many counselors including former coworkers have told me that they never have had the experience and it scares them. My own therapist informed me that it is not as big of deal as people make it out to be and he informed me that I would do fine with my experience and the fact that I treated this client with a precise treatment plan that was largely based on evidence-based therapies. He informed me that the lawyer of the insurance company would likely not be interested in my testimony as I was an intern at the time. Unfortunately, his inclination of this particular attorney not being interested in my testimony was incorrect. This lawyer, in hindsight was looking for a weak link and as the intern, this litigator suspected I was the weak link by default and in turn there they waged an all-out war on my client and my clinical expertise. I learned much from this experience.

Three Lessons Learned

Here are three lessons learned from this civil deposition that I will cherish throughout my career going forward as these are applicable to all counselors in any kind of setting.

1. Tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth: These are legal proceedings. While a judicial officer is not present, a counselor is still under oath. This proceeding is between you, your client’s lawyer and whoever is representing the opposing party regardless if they are the plaintiff or defendant. Of course, there will be a court reporter, but they will be in the background typing away largely. Telling the truth is nothing new to us though. Our ACA code of ethics informs us that we have a principle of veracity. This has us either answering what is appropriate to answer in a deposition or simply stating “I don’t know.”

2. The client can still be cared for despite the prying eyes of lawyers and the parties, pernicious or otherwise that they represent: In this proceeding the lawyer representing the insurance company asked me a question that had nothing to do with the trauma my client experienced from the accident. It happened to involve something intimate that was not this lawyer’s business nor anyone but my client’s business. I told this attorney that I would not divulge this information. The attorney told me that they could depose me again and get a judge to rule on the matter. I informed her that I would welcome the involvement of a judicial officer. I did this as again nothing was relevant about these intimate matters to the presenting clinical problems of PTSD.

3. The client is still our client during a deposition. There are limits to what the court needs to know, especially an overzealous attorney who does not represent the court as a whole. This is why I asked for the judicial officer’s involvement as I had hope that any rational trier of fact would find that this other information had nothing to do with the client’s diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I also made the comment to this attorney on the record that their questions were inhumane and were attempting to minimize my client’s trauma. The principle of Fidelity from our code of ethics was at play here as I was continuously demonstrating that my notes continued to show that my client still in fact had PTSD, despite making some improvements in therapy.

4. Psychotherapist, protect yourself. The attorney representing the insurance company who was deposing asked if I wanted to sign off on the record right away or reserve my signature. I chose to reserve my signature. While this was a civil proceeding and the court reporter seemed competent, I wanted to review the transcript before I was to sign off on it. It is better to look over what was recorded in the proceedings rather than just accept what they have taken to attempt to preserve accuracy over what was said. I wanted to make sure what I had said was reflected accurately in the record. To me this was a prudent choice.

Application & Conclusion

This deposition was not a horrible experience like I was expecting it to be. The deposition was merely a transition in my career as I went from being just an intern counselor into becoming the real deal that I am today. In the long term, I view this experience as a useful one as it prepared me for work at a community agency where I do many assessments on individuals that are mandated by the court system or by the department of corrections. The number one difference between this civil matter I discussed is that the stakes are highly different regarding to the reasoning behind getting deposed. I am frequently As I continued in my role performing the assessments on these individuals, I know the likelihood of me being deposed is even greater than before.

The next deposition if it should come will likely be in a criminal or family court. Stakes will likely be different rather than just punitive or compensatory damages. Rather, the stakes will be involving liberties and parental rights. The child welfare system in Illinois frequently calls on therapists to provide reports of client progress in relation to progress on the reunification of children with parents.

This experience was a useful one for me as it allows me to share the lessons I learned for others as well as remember these lessons for myself. It is my hope this article shares with you the lessons I learned within this deposition.

Original Source Link: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/deposition-damnation-brandon-c-hovey-ma-lpc-ncc-daqwc/

After Josh and Joseph Duggar: How High‑Control Religious Environments Can Enable Child Sexual Abuse

Trigger Warning:
This article discusses child sexual abuse, institutional betrayal, and abuse within religious contexts. While no graphic details are included, the subject matter may be emotionally activating for survivors of abuse, religious trauma, or spiritual abuse. Readers are encouraged to proceed at their own pace, take breaks as needed, and seek support if distress arises.

If you or someone you know has experienced sexual abuse, confidential support is available through RAINN (800‑656‑HOPE) or local crisis resources.

In recent years, the public has been forced to confront deeply troubling stories involving child sexual abuse within highly visible religious families. The most well‑known is Josh Duggar, a former reality television figure who was convicted in federal court for receiving and possessing child sexual abuse material and sentenced to more than twelve years in prison. Years earlier, multiple women—including several of his sisters—had disclosed that Josh Duggar sexually abused them during adolescence, disclosures that were handled internally within the family’s religious community rather than reported to civil authorities at the time.

More recently, public attention has again turned to the Duggar family following the arrest of Joseph Duggar, Josh Duggar’s younger brother, who has been charged with child sexual abuse offenses related to alleged conduct involving a minor during a family vacation in Florida. According to law‑enforcement statements, the allegations surfaced years after the reported incident following a forensic interview and investigation. At the time of writing, these charges remain allegations and have not yet been adjudicated in court.

The presence of multiple abuse cases within the same highly controlled religious and familial system raises necessary and uncomfortable questions—not only about individual perpetrators, but about the environments in which abuse can be minimized, concealed, or reframed as a moral or spiritual issue rather than treated as a criminal act.

This article is not an attack on religion or religious belief. Many faith communities are deeply protective of children and actively engaged in safeguarding, justice, and healing. However, decades of interdisciplinary research demonstrate that high‑control religious environments—across traditions—can unintentionally create conditions that increase vulnerability to abuse and suppress disclosure when abuse occurs.

Why Repeated Cases Matter Clinically and Sociologically

From a trauma‑informed perspective, patterns matter more than individual scandals. When abuse appears repeatedly within the same family system, community, or belief structure, clinicians and researchers are compelled to examine systemic risk factors, not merely individual pathology.

Large‑scale inquiries into religious institutions across multiple countries have consistently identified dynamics that increase risk, including rigid hierarchies, unquestioned authority, internal handling of abuse allegations, and cultural pressure to protect institutional reputation over child safety. These systems often discourage reporting to secular authorities and frame disclosure as sinful, divisive, or damaging to the faith community.

Authority, Obedience, and Grooming in Religious Contexts

Research by Raine and Kent demonstrates that religious environments can contain unique grooming mechanisms that differ from secular contexts. These include spiritualized authority, reverence for leaders, fear‑based beliefs about punishment or divine consequences, and theological rationalizations that can be exploited to silence children and caregivers alike.

Importantly, this research does not argue that religion causes abuse. Rather, it highlights how unchecked power within obedience‑based systems can be misused when transparency and accountability are absent.

Institutional Betrayal and the Cost of Silence

When children disclose abuse and are met with minimization, secrecy, or spiritual reframing instead of protection, the harm deepens. Psychological literature refers to this phenomenon as institutional betrayal—a secondary trauma that occurs when an institution fails to protect those who depend on it.

Institutional betrayal is associated with increased PTSD symptoms, shame, dissociation, and long‑term difficulty trusting authority figures. Survivors frequently report that the response of the institution—family, church, or community—was as damaging as the abuse itself.

It bears repeating:
Religion does not cause child sexual abuse. Abusers do.

At the same time, religious communities can either increase risk or increase protection. Research shows that faith communities become safer when they embrace mandatory reporting, shared leadership, survivor‑centered theology, and external accountability. Many survivors ultimately reclaim spirituality in healthier, less rigid forms when their experiences are believed and validated.

How Friends and Family Can Support Survivors of Sexual Abuse

For many survivors, the most significant factor in long‑term healing is not the severity of the abuse, but how people responded when they disclosed. Supportive responses are protective; harmful responses compound trauma.

Friends and family do not need perfect words or clinical training. What matters most is belief, presence, and respect for the survivor’s autonomy.

1. Believe Them—Without Qualification

The most powerful response is often the simplest: “I believe you.”
Avoid questioning details, playing devil’s advocate, or seeking certainty. Survivors frequently delay disclosure for years due to fear of disbelief or retaliation.

2. Let the Survivor Set the Pace

Avoid rushing to problem‑solve, confront the perpetrator, or push for legal action. Control was already taken from the survivor once. Healing requires that it be returned.

Support means respecting their timeline—even when it is difficult to understand.

3. Avoid Spiritualizing or Minimizing the Harm

Statements such as “God has a plan,” “Everything happens for a reason,” or “You need to forgive” often increase shame and silence. These responses may unintentionally communicate that the survivor’s pain is inconvenient or spiritually inadequate.

Healing is not accelerated by forced meaning‑making.

4. Listen More Than You Speak

You do not need to fix the pain. Survivors benefit most when loved ones listen without interruption, reflect what they hear, and tolerate their own discomfort without redirecting the conversation.

5. Respect Boundaries—Even When They’re Hard

Survivors may limit contact with family members, leave religious spaces, or change long‑standing relationships. These boundaries are not punishments; they are adaptive survival strategies.

6. Encourage Support—Without Pressure

Professional help can be life‑saving, but it should be offered as an option, not a mandate. Practical support—help finding resources, childcare, or transportation—often matters more than advice.

7. Care for Yourself, Too

Supporting a survivor can stir grief, anger, or helplessness. Seeking your own support is not a betrayal—it strengthens your capacity to show up consistently and without resentment.

Moving Forward: What Protects Children

Research consistently identifies protective factors:

• Mandatory reporting without religious exemption

• Shared leadership and external accountability

• Trauma‑informed training for clergy and volunteers

• Clear safeguarding policies

• Theologies that prioritize human dignity over institutional preservation

When faith communities choose courage over silence, they can become places of genuine safety.

If you our your organization would like information or support around how to respond to child sexual abuse, please reach out to our office.

A Final Word

As a therapist, I sit with adults who were once children silenced by fear, loyalty, or faith‑based shame. Many are not angry at God—they are grieving the protection they were promised and did not receive.

We can honor faith and protect children.
We can respect religion and demand accountability.
And we can listen to survivors without defensiveness.

That is not an attack on religion.
It is an act of moral responsibility.

Reference List

Freyd, J. J. (2018). Institutional betrayal and institutional courage. Journal of Trauma & Dissociation, 19(1), 1–6.

Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse. (2019). Child sexual abuse in the context of religious institutions. https://www.iicsa.org.uk

Lucia, A. (2025). The Religion & Sexual Abuse Project: An introduction. Religion, 55(4), 761–782. https://doi.org/10.1080/0048721X.2025.2538952

Perry, S. (2024). Religious/spiritual abuse, meaning‑making, and posttraumatic growth. Religions, 15(7), 824. https://doi.org/10.3390/rel15070824

Raine, S., & Kent, S. A. (2019). The grooming of children for sexual abuse in religious settings: Unique characteristics and select case studies. Aggression and Violent Behavior, 48, 180–189. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.avb.2019.08.017

Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse. (2017). Religious institutions. https://www.childabuseroyalcommission.gov.au

Smith, C. P., & Freyd, J. J. (2014). Institutional betrayal. American Psychologist, 69(6), 575–587. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0037564

🍀 Chasing Leprechauns, Not Perfection: A Mental Health Take on St. Patrick’s Day

St. Patrick’s Day is the one magical day each year when we collectively decide that wearing green is a personality, carbs don’t count, and this might finally be the year we find emotional fulfillment at the bottom of a metaphorical (or literal) pot of gold.

As a therapist, I feel it’s my professional duty to tell you:

✨ The pot of gold is not real.
✨ The leprechaun is probably avoidantly attached.
✨ And perfection is definitely not hiding at the end of the rainbow.

But good news—mental health doesn’t require luck, magic, or a four‑leaf clover. It mostly requires self‑compassion… and occasionally reminding ourselves to drink some water between green beverages.

🍺 The Myth of “Feeling Lucky” (and Other Emotional Pressures)

St. Patrick’s Day has strong “everyone else is thriving but me” energy.

You might notice thoughts like:

“Everyone else looks happier than I feel.”

“Why does it seem like other people have it all figured out?”

“Shouldn’t I be having more fun than this?”

Here’s the truth therapists don’t always put on festive mugs: Happiness is not seasonal, and emotional well‑being doesn’t show up on command.

There’s a lot of pressure—especially on holidays—to feel grateful, joyful, social, and fun. But mental health doesn’t work that way. You can wear green and feel sad. You can celebrate and feel overwhelmed. You can attend the party and leave early because your nervous system has had enough.

That’s not failure. That’s awareness.

🌈 The Real Rainbow: Emotional Growth Isn’t Linear

We love the idea of a neat, colorful arc—storm ends, rainbow appears, lesson learned, cue inspirational quote.

But real mental health progress looks more like: ➡️ Insight → discomfort → growth → doubt → rest → repeat

Healing doesn’t move in straight lines. It loops. It backtracks. It occasionally takes a nap and forgets what it was working on.

If you’re in therapy, you might even catch yourself thinking: “I should be past this by now.”

Let me gently interrupt that thought: “Should” is not a clinical term.

Progress isn’t about never struggling again. It’s about noticing patterns sooner, responding with more compassion, and recovering a little faster each time. That’s the real pot of gold—and yes, it’s less shiny than Instagram promised.

🍀 Comparison Is the Sneakiest Leprechaun of All

Social media on holidays is especially good at convincing us that everyone else is:

• More connected

• More successful

• More relaxed

• More “together”

Comparison thrives when we’re already tired or dysregulated. And the more we scroll, the more our brains start telling very convincing stories that usually end with: “What’s wrong with me?”

Spoiler alert: nothing is wrong with you.

Other people’s highlight reels don’t show:

• Their anxiety before leaving the house

• The argument they had on the way to brunch

• The emotional hangover that hits later

Mental health isn’t about winning at life. It’s about learning how to live it with more honesty and less self‑criticism.

💚 Therapist‑Approved Ways to Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day

If you’re looking for a healthier way to approach today (or any holiday), here are a few options that won’t require luck:

1. Set expectations realistically.
You don’t have to do everything—or anything—just because it’s on the calendar.

2. Notice what your body is asking for.
Connection? Rest? Quiet? A snack? (It’s often a snack.)

3. Give yourself permission to opt out.
Of plans. Of pressure. Of pretending you’re fine.

4. Practice “good enough” joy.
It doesn’t have to be magical to matter.

🍀 The Real Pot of Gold

The real treasure isn’t constant happiness, emotional perfection, or having it all figured out.

It’s learning how to:

• Be kinder to yourself on hard days

• Ask for help without shame

• Set boundaries without over‑explaining

• Let rest be productive

That’s not luck. That’s growth.

So this St. Patrick’s Day, I hope you find moments of ease, a little humor in the chaos, and maybe—even briefly—the reminder that you are already doing better than you think.

And if you’re not? That’s okay too.

Therapy exists for a reason—and none of them involve leprechauns.

🍀 Sláinte to your mental health—today and every day.

The Self‑Care Strategy: Building a Life You Don’t Need to Escape From

Self‑care.
If you’re anything like me, you probably sighed—or rolled your eyes—a little when you read that word.

Over the past few years, self‑care has taken on a life of its own. Social media is flooded with perfectly curated images and ads promoting the latest self‑care trend. Most of them require extra time, extra money, or both—and let’s be honest, who has an abundance of either these days?

Despite its trendy reputation, self‑care is essential to our overall well‑being. The problem is that many of us have been sold a version of self‑care that misses the point entirely. It’s not just pedicures, impulse Amazon purchases, or Netflix binges (though those things absolutely have their place). When self‑care gets reduced to occasional treats instead of intentional care, many people end up stuck in a familiar cycle: pushing through exhaustion, burning out, and wondering why they still feel depleted.

Self‑Care: The What (and the What Not)

So what is self‑care, really?

At its core, self‑care simply means caring for yourself. It’s about meeting your needs consistently, not perfectly. Self‑care can be broken down into a few basic areas: physical, mental, emotional, social, and spiritual. While we all share these categories, what fills them will look different for each person.

I love a good metaphor, so let’s look at self‑care through the lens of caring for a puppy.

• The puppy needs walks and grooming to stay healthy (physical).

• The puppy needs training and challenges to stimulate her mind and build self‑control (mental).

• The puppy needs affection and reassurance that she’s the goodest girl (emotional).

• The puppy needs socialization to learn how to interact with others (social).

Now, what happens if one or two of those needs get ignored?

• Without enough physical activity, the puppy has too much energy and gets into trouble.

• Without mental stimulation, she gets bored and chews things she shouldn’t.

• Without affection, she becomes sad and insecure.

• Without socialization, she struggles with boundaries and relationships.

Sound familiar?

Now Let’s Apply This to You

One of the most common things I hear from people is, “I don’t even know where to start.” That makes sense—our lives are already packed with responsibilities, obligations, and endless to‑do lists.

A helpful place to begin is by creating a Self‑Care Menu. This takes a little upfront effort, but it sets you up for long‑term success.

Start by making a list of activities that fit into each self‑care category (physical, mental, emotional, social, spiritual). Choose things you genuinely enjoy and find life‑giving—not things you feel like you should do.

Next, get realistic about time.

• A walk might take anywhere from 5 to 30+ minutes.

• Many grounding exercises can be done in under 10 minutes.

• Reading, journaling, or working on a puzzle can be flexible.

• Coffee with a friend might take 30–60 minutes.

Once you have your menu, begin weaving these options into your day when small pockets of time appear. Over time, you’ll start to notice which areas need attention and which feel more balanced.

If a puppy has boundless energy, you know she needs a walk. If she won’t stop jumping on the counter, she probably needs some training and structure. The same is true for us. Our stress, irritability, exhaustion, or emotional shutdown are signals—not failures.

The puppy deserves consistent care.
And so do you.

Play Therapy: Common Questions and Answers

Guidance for Parents and Caregivers Supporting Children

If you've read my previous post about Play Therapy, you may still have questions. I support you! It’s completely natural to have questions before your child begins play therapy. Parents often wonder what to expect, how their child will respond, and how they themselves will be involved. Here are some of the most common questions I hear from families:

How long does play therapy take?

Every child is unique. Some children show noticeable changes within a few weeks, while others benefit from ongoing support over several months. Your therapist will check in with you regularly about your child’s progress and goals.

What if my child doesn’t want to go?

It’s common for children to feel unsure at first. Many warm up once they see the playroom and realize it’s a safe, welcoming space. If your child resists, your therapist can work with you on gentle ways to ease the transition.

How do I explain this appointment to my child before their first session?

Keep it simple and positive. You might say, “You’re going to meet someone who has a special room with lots of toys. Their job is to help kids with big feelings by playing together.” Avoid making it sound like a punishment or something to “fix” them: frame it as a safe, supportive place just for them.

Will I be in the room during sessions?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It depends on your child’s needs and the therapist’s approach. Younger children may benefit from a parent joining in, while older children often open up more when they have space of their own. Either way, as your child's guardian, you can request updates or parent meetings for updates on your child’s growth and process. 

What if my child just “plays” and doesn’t talk?

That’s completely normal. Play is your child’s way of talking. Play therapists are trained to understand the themes and emotions that come through in play, even if your child isn’t using words.

Is play therapy only for children with big problems?

Not at all. Play therapy can help children with a wide range of challenges; from everyday stress, sibling conflicts, and school anxiety, to coping with loss, divorce, or trauma. Think of it as emotional support and skill-building, not just “fixing problems.”

How will I know if it’s working?

You may notice gradual changes in your child’s mood, behavior, or coping skills. The therapist will also share insights and updates. Sometimes the progress shows up in small ways first; fewer meltdowns, more willingness to try new things, or more positive interactions at home. Every child learns at their own pace.

A Final Word for Parents

Reaching out for support is a powerful step. You don’t need to have everything figured out before you begin. Play therapy gives your child a safe space to heal and grow, and it also gives you tools and guidance along the way. Remember, you and your child are not alone in this journey. Together, and especially with support, growth and healing are possible.

If you’re curious about whether play therapy might be right for your child, research and contact a child therapist in your area. Sometimes starting the conversation can make all the difference.

Recommended Reading for Parents

If you’d like to learn more about play therapy and supporting your child’s emotional growth, here are some excellent resources:

• “Play Therapy: The Art of the Relationship” by Garry L. Landreth A classic guide for understanding the philosophy behind play therapy.

• “Parenting with Play Therapy: A Practical Guide to Nurturing Emotional Well-Being” by Nancy Boyd WebbAccessible, parent-friendly insights.

• “Child-Centered Play Therapy: A Practical Guide to Developing Therapeutic Relationships with Children” by Rise VanFleetHelpful for parents curious about the techniques therapists use.

Short Videos about Play Therapy

If you’re a visual learner, like me, here are some short videos on YouTube that do a great job of outlining play therapy and its benefits:

• Introduction to Play Therapy Therapist Joey Harmon gives a quick overview of child-centered play therapy in the first 3 minutes 

• Play Therapy Works! A succinct video by the Association for Play Therapy introducing what play therapy is and why credentialed therapists matter 

• Play is the Child’s Language: Play Therapy Joanne Wicks describes how play is children’s emotional expression in a brief talk 

• Introducing Andrew A short clip emphasizing that “play is a child’s first language” and how children express inner worlds through play