our session together
Each session holds its own possibilities, its own energy, its own amplitude. Yet all are meaningful.
(1) Where Ink Meets Water
I often picture our sessions as ink slowly spreading in water. The ink spreads, and the water shifts—its textures, its colors—dependent on where the ink lands, the hue it carries, the movements that guide it. The currents ripple, threading through one another, weaving patterns shaped by each word uttered, every resonance of what is heard, and even the silences between. Each session holds its own possibilities, its own energy, its own amplitude. Yet all are meaningful. It is the rearrangement of meaning that loosens what has been stuck, thaws what has been frozen, and allows new streams of movement to flow.
(2) Returning to What Was Never Lost
Many of us come to understand early on that belonging often requires us to cast out parts of ourselves that cannot be safely held by others. We learn to fold, pare down, and reshape, becoming skilled in the art of survival. Sometimes, this earns us acceptance, even praise. We convince ourselves we can carry on without them.
Yet beneath the surface, something lingers—a quiet dissonance, subtle yet insistent. We look outward, toward voices we find more familiar, answers we imagine are surer than our own, while the thread of our inner authority unravels, fraying, growing distant, scarcely remembered, never fully trusted.
They say healing is a return to wholeness, but I wonder if it’s ever that simple. To heal, perhaps, is not just to gather what was cast aside, but to meet those parts again, slowly, with patience, with tenderness, with compassion and dialogue. It is the careful work of mending, of reknitting the silences, of coaxing that inner voice back to life. Faint as it may be, it has never truly disappeared, only waiting.
(3) Finding Voice in the Marshes
In our exploration together, we straighten the folds of your experience, expanding its world of meaning, where I, too, can take up space inside it. With my imperfect humanity, I bring my sincerity, my curiosity, my creativity, and my thoughtfulness to you. Through the filters of my own selfhood, I attune to the meanings that rise in my own way, much like a cello resonating uniquely with the music drawn from its strings.
There is immense power in being witnessed by another human. When space is held for us, courage blooms along the paths that lead us back to those parts of ourselves we've long discarded—those parts too big, too unbearable to carry alone. Each step we take gently presses into the soil, grounding our experiences in a new way, so that, over time, they begin to carry a different weight.
My hope is that you would start to impress into them as your own, feeling their truth in a deeper, more meaningful way —almost like coming back home to yourself; that in the midst of the marshes, you may find your voice again.
(4) Listening to What Has Always Been
Working toward a shared understanding of your experience creates a stillness, a clearing, where you can hear yourself more clearly. In this space, the noise of external demands fades, and the quiet truth of your own voice begins to take shape.
This knowing isn’t born from analysis or theory, but from something closer, something intrinsic—a wisdom that has always belonged to you.
other [therapy] things I hold to be true
(1) In the Weft of Things
There are moments when we long for quick answers, for a simple solution to the intricate, overwhelming knots of our lives. But the human experience, vast and untamed, is far too complex for such simplicity. We are all, in our own ways, extraordinary—our inner worlds filled with layers of meaning and unseen connections. Healing, then, isn’t a straight line. It doesn’t obey any roadmap. If we reduce our struggles to easy fixes, we fail to honor the depth of our being.
Everything matters. Everything is part of the story.
Suffering, too, wears a thousand faces, none of which can be captured by a diagnosis or neatly written into a textbook. Even if two people bear the same label, their pain is theirs alone—shaped by their history, their environment, their own way of seeing the world. This pain, this grief, is not simply a result of something gone wrong within. It is entwined with the world we inhabit, the people who come and go, the relationships that nourish and wound us. It is natural, inevitable, this ache of being alive. And though suffering may never vanish, it shifts, deepens, teaches us to listen. It becomes a messenger, urging us to tend to the parts of ourselves that have been ignored, left behind. It doesn’t ask to be feared; it asks to be understood.
(2) The World Within a Room
Therapy is not a place where we find answers, neatly packaged and tied with a bow. It is something more fragile and unsteady—a shared space, where two souls meet and explore the shape of one's life. It is not about fixing what is broken but about finding new ways of seeing—of relating to ourselves, to others, to the world. The power of this space does not lie in the things we say or the solutions we offer. It is found in the rhythm of our being together, in the unspoken exchange of presence, in the shared act of creation. The process is a slow, intimate dance, where we learn, moment by moment, to walk together. I show up as myself—imperfect, human—and I hold space for the courage it takes to reveal yourself.
We are, all of us, creatures of connection, intertwined in a web of relationships that form the fabric of our experience. And it is often here, in the heart of these connections, that our wounds were born. But it is also here, within the safety of another’s presence, that we begin to heal. In the therapy room, the world outside mirrors itself, the ebb and flow of life reflected in the quiet, delicate dance between us.
Around us, life bursts with miracles—a glass of water, a ray of sunshine, a leaf, a caterpillar, a flower, laughter, and raindrops. If you live in awareness, it is easy to see miracles everywhere. Each human being is a multiplicity of miracles; Eyes that see thousands of colors, shapes, and forms; ears that hear a bee flying or a thunderclap; a brain that ponders a speck of dust as easily as the entire cosmos; a heart that beats in rhythm with the heartbeat of all beings. When we are tired and feel discouraged by life’s daily struggles, we may not notice these miracles, but they are always there.
–Thích Nhất Hạnh
(3) In the Space Between Steps
We are like travelers on a path hidden in shadow, stumbling over unseen roots, pushing through thorns, searching for something hidden in the dense undergrowth. And though the way is unclear at times, we press on, uncovering the truths buried within. The container of the therapeutic space form the edges of this space, giving us the freedom to explore the places in us that are bruised, the parts of ourselves we’ve tucked away. Here, in this shared space, we can unearth the feelings, the thoughts, the patterns that have kept us from flourishing. And as we sift through these layers, pulling meaning from meaning, we begin to understand the stories we have been telling ourselves. We begin to see how contradictions can live side by side, how opposing feelings can coexist, both true, both offering us insights into the complexities of our lives.
It is not a quick journey, nor an easy one. At times, we will find ourselves lost, stumbling through the dark. But with each step, the shadows begin to recede, and the path becomes clearer. As we move through this together, you may begin to see that the weight of what you carry lightens. The things that once felt insurmountable start to shift. And these shifts—small, quiet, but profound—spread outwards, rippling into your world, your relationships, your connection with others. This is the work, the quiet unfolding. And together, we take the first step.
(4) In the Work of Change
I believe healing, growth, freedom, and change are possible, but not guaranteed. It requires something more—something deliberate. It demands work, the kind that is intentional, crafted in moments of choice, shaped by effort.
