“My head is fine. My body isn’t.”
These words were the mantra of a confused thirteen year old girl who faked at being fine most of the time, but occasionally let slip that something was very wrong; something she couldn’t and didn’t dare name. So, she spoke in code, lived in disguise, and managed to mask a broken body with a show of strength and will.
That girl was me. She is the reason I am a therapist. She was smarter than she knew, braver than she realized, and foolish enough to think she could heal without a single person knowing she was wounded. It sometimes feels as if she sits with me and my clients, guiding us toward understanding and compassion. Girls, boys, and kids of all genders are wiser than we give them credit for. They and their ever-adapting nervous systems are observing and absorbing the world in which they live. Children have much to teach us if we trust them and listen. It took me longer than I wish to admit to trust my younger self because the stakes were high and my truth unwelcome. I know first hand how much courage it takes to know yourself and speak your truth when the world is sure you are wrong.
I am a little older than thirteen now (fifty-four in fact). The love of my life is the man to whom I have been married for 32 years. Together we have raised two kids and three dogs. The relationship we have created has taught me that we all need someone who loves us just as we are. Love like this is not a gift, it is a practice. The work I do as a therapist keeps me curious, about everything. I am grateful.






