One of the most bewildering experiences of healing from relational trauma is this: missing the very people who caused us pain.

You might find yourself replaying memories. Longing for connection. Wondering if things were really as bad as you once believed. You may even feel shame for the grief you carry—as if you're betraying your healing process by missing someone who harmed you.

At some point—usually somewhere between your 30s and 50s—many men find themselves staring out the car window in traffic, gripping the steering wheel, and asking silently,
“Wait… is this it?”

If you’re the kind of person who reads self-help books “for fun,” Googles your symptoms before calling the doctor, or has ever been told you’re “so self-aware,” this one’s for you.

Have you ever felt torn between two opposing urges—like part of you wants to say yes, but another part is screaming no? Or found yourself stuck in a spiral of self-criticism you can't quite shake? Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy offers a compassionate framework for understanding these internal conflicts—not as signs of brokenness, but as evidence of a rich and complex inner world that’s trying to help you survive and thrive.

If you've ever taken an attachment quiz online and sighed at the results, you're not alone. Many of us have had the experience of reading about anxious or avoidant attachment and thinking, “Yikes. That’s me.” It can feel like getting handed a relationship report card you never knew you signed up for.

We live in a world that often encourages optimism and positivity at all costs. Phrases like "just stay positive," "everything happens for a reason," or "it could be worse" are common responses to life’s challenges. While well-intentioned, these types of responses can sometimes do more harm than good. This relentless pressure to be positive is known as toxic positivity—the belief that no matter how difficult or painful a situation is, you should only focus on the positive.

When we think of depression, we usually picture someone feeling sad, empty, or exhausted—like they’re running on low battery. But what if, for some people, depression isn’t about low energy at all?

So, you know something happened. You feel it in your body. It shows up in the way you flinch at certain tones of voice, in the way your stomach knots up when someone is even slightly disappointed in you, in the random waves of anxiety that hit you out of nowhere. But when you try to pinpoint the memory? Nothing. It’s like your brain just peaced out and left you with all the symptoms but none of the details.

“You have to love yourself before you can love someone else.” It’s one of those phrases that gets thrown around so often, it almost feels like an absolute truth. The kind of advice that sounds wise, encouraging—even necessary. But here’s the problem: it’s not entirely true.

If you’ve ever felt ashamed of your anxiety, self-doubt, or the way you shut down in stressful situations, I want you to take a deep breath for a moment. The things you struggle with now—the patterns you wish you could change—likely started as survival instincts. At some point in your life, they helped you get through something hard. And that means they make sense.

If you have an anxious attachment style, dating can feel like an emotional rollercoaster. One moment, you’re feeling hopeful and excited about a new connection, and the next, you’re overanalyzing a text message, wondering if you said something wrong. You might find yourself craving reassurance, worrying about how much someone likes you, or feeling intense emotional highs and lows depending on how a relationship is going.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve handled things on your own. You take care of yourself, your responsibilities, and maybe even the people around you. You don’t ask for help—not because you don’t need it, but because it doesn’t even feel like an option. Relying on others? That’s never really been part of the plan.

If you’ve heard about EMDR therapy, you probably know it’s different from traditional talk therapy. Maybe you’ve seen people on social media share their experiences, or a therapist recommended it to help with trauma, anxiety, or even self-doubt that won’t seem to go away.

Trauma is often thought of as a single, life-altering event — an accident, a natural disaster, or an assault. But trauma isn’t always a single moment in time. Complex trauma is different. It doesn’t come from one isolated incident but rather from prolonged, repeated experiences of harm, neglect, or instability. It shapes how we see ourselves, others, and the world.

Have you ever felt that the emotional effort you put into your work or relationships weighs you down, even if you don’t always recognize it as work at all? I’ve been there, and I want to share some thoughts on what researchers call emotional labor and how we might gently manage it in our everyday lives.

Boundaries are essential for healthy relationships, right? They help us protect our energy, communicate our needs, and build mutual respect. But what happens when the boundaries we set aren’t actually about protecting ourselves but about controlling others? It’s a tricky line to walk, but it’s an important one to explore.

If you’ve ever been told to “just breathe” during a wave of anxiety, you know it’s not always comforting. You’re overwhelmed, your heart is racing, and your mind is in overdrive. Being told to focus on your breathing can feel like someone trying to fix a broken dam with a single piece of tape.

Feeling lonely in your 30s? It’s more common than you might think. It can be tough when you’re supposed to be “adulting” and have everything figured out, yet social connections seem to get harder to maintain. Life gets busy, priorities shift, and suddenly, you’re left wondering where your friends went or why you can’t seem to make new ones. But it doesn’t have to stay that way. There are ways to build real connections, even in this busy phase of life.

We see it everywhere—movies, TV shows, music, even Instagram. Depression has become a topic we’re finally talking about, which is a good thing. But sometimes, the way it’s shown in media makes me pause. Is it helping people understand what depression is really like, or is it making it look… almost desirable?

There’s a unique kind of heaviness that comes with questioning the purpose of life. For many, this feeling can lead to frustration, despair, or a deep sense of being stuck. You might find yourself asking: Why am I here? What’s the point of any of this?