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A reflection on healing, compassion, and the permission to rest When Life Says Stop Sometimes the body whispers: an ache, a fatigue, a weight that reminds us we’ve been carrying too much. Other times it speaks in a full stop. For me, that moment came partway through a painting project. One small movement, one sharp pull in my mid back, and the weekend’s plans were gone. The brushes, the paint cans, the excitement all paused in an instant. At first, I felt frustrated. I wanted to finish what I started. I told myself I should have known better. I replayed the moment over and over, looking for where I went wrong. But what I learned that week had less to do with my back and more to do with how I meet myself when life says no. This unexpected pause became a classroom for something deeper: learning to rest through stillness. When the Body Becomes the Teacher Sometimes the hardest work is learning to meet ourselves with kindness, right where we are. Our bodies are wise communicators. Pain and exhaustion are not enemies to conquer; they are messages asking for relationship. When we override them, we reinforce the old conditioning that tells us rest must be earned and that our worth is tied to what we produce or how much we can hold. The body’s language is honest. It speaks the truth before our minds catch up. It tells us when we have reached capacity, when we need warmth, when it is time to come home to ourselves. Listening inward, without judgment or urgency, is an act of radical compassion. It is not self-indulgent; it is self-honoring. And yet, slowing down can feel disorienting. Many of us have been taught that stillness equals stagnation or that rest is something we deserve only when everything else is done. But healing, like nature, happens in cycles of movement and stillness, effort and ease. Learning to rest through stillness means trusting that quiet seasons are not wasted ones. When Creative Energy Has Nowhere to Go One of the hardest parts of being forced to stop was the energy that could not move. My mind and body had been alive with creativity, color palettes, layout ideas, and the joyful hum of making something new with my daughter. Suddenly, all of that energy had nowhere to land. It is a strange tension: feeling inspired but physically unable to act on it. Maybe you have felt it too, the frustration of creative momentum meeting an unexpected wall. So I began to experiment with new ways for the energy to move. I wrote. I visualized. I made digital mockups instead of painting real walls. I dreamed from the couch and let my imagination do what my body could not. That is when I realized something important: creativity does not live only in motion. It also lives in reflection, imagination, and rest. When we slow down, our creativity does not disappear. It composts. It transforms beneath the surface, preparing to grow in new ways. Sitting with the Mess spilled paint to symbolize the messy middle As I sat in that stillness, the environment around me told a very different story. The room I had begun to transform was half-finished, with paint cans in corners and piles of books and clothes covering the floor. The order I usually keep in my home and within myself had given way to visible chaos. It was humbling to sit in that space, surrounded by evidence of incompletion, and not try to fix it. Every instinct wanted to tidy, to organize, to restore control. But my body would not let me. In a culture that prizes productivity and composure, living in the messy middle can feel unbearable. We are taught that outer order equals inner peace, that tidiness proves worthiness. But sometimes the healing happens right there, in the piles, in the pause, in the permission to let it be unfinished. So instead of trying to manage the outer chaos, I turned toward the inner one. I noticed how the mess made me feel: the impatience, the shame, the discomfort. And I tended there, with breath, with compassion, with quiet acknowledgment that it was okay for things to be undone, both around me and within me. Meeting the Inner Critic with Compassion Of course, slowing down does not always feel peaceful. The inner critic often has a lot to say. It may tell us we are lazy. It might whispers that we have messed up, that we are falling behind, that we have made things harder for everyone else.These voices usually echo early messages, the cultural, familial, or religious rules that told us who and how to be in order to belong. When we meet these voices with curiosity instead of resistance, something softens. We start to see that the critic is often trying to protect us, to keep us safe from shame or rejection. Compassion does not silence the critic. It changes the conversation .It sounds like: “This isn’t a failure. It’s feedback. My body is showing me what it needs, and I can respond with kindness.” This is the heart of somatic healing, learning to meet inner conflict with warmth instead of willpower. When we meet ourselves with compassion, we create enough safety to let go of the old rules and listen for what we truly need. Receiving Help as a Practice of Love Asking for help has not come easily to me. I am used to being capable, independent, and strong because growing up I had no other option. But this week, I could not even move a paint can. So I asked for help. Painters came to finish the project. My family rearranged what I could not. My clients received reschedules and understanding. Every ask felt vulnerable, but it also felt real and I knew deeply was an opportunity for healing, I reminded myself that allowing others to show up for me is not a failure of strength. It is a deep expression of trust. Sometimes love sounds like “I need help.” Sometimes strength looks like letting someone else carry the brush. This, too, is permission to rest. Writing Your Own Permission Slip One of the most healing things we can do is give ourselves the permission no one else ever gave us. Here is a simple practice: Title it: My Permission Slip Then complete the sentence "I give myself permission to...." Complete this as many times as you need and feel free to borrow from the examples below. I give myself permission to rest. I give myself permission to ask for help. I give myself permission to say no or set a boundary. I give myself permission to feel joy without needing to earn it. I give myself permission to be human. This simple act of writing interrupts the old narratives of worthiness and control. It tells your nervous system, “I am allowed to stop.” You can keep it on your desk, beside your bed, or anywhere you forget that permission is yours to give. Compassion as the Doorway to Permission Stillness is rarely convenient, but it is often sacred. It calls us back to ourselves, back to the truth that we were never meant to perform our way into love. Compassion is the doorway to permission. And permission is the doorway to freedom. When we stop pushing and start listening, when we let the body lead, we remember where strength really comes from. So the next time your body says stop, maybe it is not working against you. Maybe it is showing you the way home. 🪶 Inspired by a personal reflection originally shared in my newsletter.I f you would like more letters like this, filled with reflections on somatic healing, boundaries, and the practice of being human, you can subscribe here at the bottom of my homepage→.

When I think about burnout in high-achieving women, one of the first things I think about is incongruence. From the outside, a high-achieving woman may look capable, productive, dependable, and accomplished. She gets things done. People count on her. She may even be the person others turn to when something needs to be figured out. Her internal experience can look very different. I think of a duck gliding smoothly across the surface of the water while its feet paddle furiously underneath. Other people see competence. She feels the effort required to keep everything moving. Sometimes burnout happens because the demands of life begin to exceed the capacity available to meet them. But sometimes something else is happening, too. The drive itself begins to change. What’Drives High Achievement? There is nothing inherently unhealthy about being ambitious or wanting to do things well. Achievement can be deeply connected to our values. Maybe excellence matters, or there is a genuine love of learning, creating, contributing, leading, or being of service. Perhaps working hard toward something meaningful feels energizing and deeply aligned with who we are. Achievement can also become connected to something deeper. For some women, being capable, helpful, easy, or strong became part of how they found belonging in their family system. They may have been the child who didn’t need much, the daughter who helped care for everyone else, the peacekeeper, the achiever, or simply the person others knew they could rely on. There can be a nervous-system component to this, too. Growing up needing to anticipate what was coming next, monitor other people’s moods, avoid mistakes, or stay one step ahead can make doing feel safer than being. Productivity, preparation, perfectionism, or staying busy may have served a purpose long before achievement became part of an adult identity. This doesn’t mean achievement is inherently a trauma response, or that every ambitious person has an attachment wound. It simply means it can be worthwhile to get curious about what achievement is doing for us. Somewhere along the way, the message may have become: I have value when... I'm self-reliant. I’m helpful. I’m accomplishing something. I don’t burden anyone. I take care of everyone else. I’m strong. I am successful. I reflect well on my family. And often, it isn’t one or the other. Someone can genuinely value achievement while also carrying an older belief that accomplishment helps secure love, belonging, approval, or significance. That’s why one of the questions I find useful in therapy is simply: What’s driving this? When What Drives Us Begins to Change There’s another shift I don’t think we talk about enough in conversations about burnout: sometimes the drive itself changes. A person may still be capable of doing what she has always done. She knows how to push, perform, organize, achieve, and keep things moving. But somewhere along the way, it may stop feeling the way it used to. I think this can become particularly interesting in midlife. It can also happen through therapy, healing, loss, parenthood, relationship changes, hormonal shifts, or simply knowing ourselves more deeply. The things that once motivated us may not carry the same weight. Sometimes healing itself changes the equation. If part of achievement was once connected to proving I’m good enough, useful enough, successful enough, worthy enough, what happens when those things no longer need to be proven? Different questions can begin to emerge. Do I actually want this? Does this still matter to me? What am I working this hard for? Who am I if I’m not proving anything? This can be disorienting, particularly when achievement has been central to identity. here may even be some grief in recognizing that the version of success someone spent years pursuing doesn’t hold the same meaning anymore. But it may also be an invitation to distinguish what we are capable of doing from how we actually want to spend our lives. When Being Capable Becomes Part of an Identity Being capable can become more than something a person does. It can become part of how she understands herself. The dependable one. The organized one. The person who can handle a lot. The one who figures things out. The one people turn to in stress. Adult life can ask a tremendous amount of that person. There may be a career, relationships, friendships, a household, finances, caregiving, health, appointments, pets, community responsibilities, and all of the invisible planning required to keep a life moving. Somewhere in there, there may also be a desire for creativity, movement, rest, pleasure, connection, and an inner life of one’s own. There can be an enormous amount competing for the same finite pool of attention and energy. And when someone accustomed to being capable realizes there’s too much to do, the instinct may be to become even more capable. Ahhh, I can solve this. A better calendar, a new system, another list, a more efficient routine or a ten-step plan. If I can just figure out how to manage all of this better, maybe I won’t feel so overwhelmed. So the response to too much doing becomes more doing. It may provide temporary relief, but it isn’t always sustainable. Capacity Is Not Fixed One of the ideas I return to in conversations about burnout is that capacity isn’t fixed. What a person has available today may be very different from what was available six months ago, or even yesterday. Sleep, nourishment, illness, hormones, grief, caregiving, workload, relationship stress, pregnancy and postpartum, perimenopause and menopause, and simply the season of life we’re in can all affect capacity. And yet, it’s remarkably easy to hold ourselves to a standard based on a completely different season. I used to be able to do this. Why can’t I keep up anymore? What’s wrong with me? I wonder if a more useful question is: Am I holding myself to a standard of capacity that accurately reflects the reality of my life right now? How Stress and Depletion Can Lead to Burnout Sometimes the very signals that indicate depletion become evidence we use against ourselves.Irritability is a good example of this. Someone may notice becoming short-tempered or craving more space. Instead of receiving that as information about depletion, it can quickly become: What’s wrong with me? Why am I acting like this? I need to do better. The same can happen with exhaustion, brain fog, procrastination, resentment, difficulty concentrating, or simply not having the energy we think we should have. There is another piece of this that I find helpful: the stressor and the stress response aren’t necessarily the same thing. A project can be finished. A deadline can be met. A problem can be solved. A difficult conversation can finally happen. The stressful week can end. And the body may still be carrying the physiological effects of stress. This distinction is something Emily and Amelia Nagoski explore in their book Burnout. Addressing what caused the stress doesn’t necessarily mean the body’s stress response has had an opportunity to settle. For someone accustomed to pushing through, the next demand may arrive before there has been much room for recovery. Demand. Activation. Accomplishment. Next demand. Over time, exhaustion, irritability, restlessness, difficulty concentrating, or other signs of depletion may begin to show up. Rather than asking what those experiences are communicating about capacity, it’s easy to interpret them as information about character. I’m lazy. I’m falling behind. I should be able to handle this. Now there is depletion alongside shame and self-criticism. I wonder what would change if we held our capacity with a little more reverence. What if the goal wasn’t to continually extract as much as possible from ourselves, but to become more attentive to what nourishes capacity, what diminishes it, and what allows recovery from the stress already being carried? What If Something Around Us Needs to Change? When overwhelm becomes another problem to solve, even self-care can become another project to succeed at. We’re inundated with messages about how to optimize, biohack, and care for ourselves through meditation, exercise, meal prep, journaling, sleep, hydration, and whatever the latest wellness trend happens to be. Many of these things can genuinely support well-being, but added together they can also become another list of things to do well. The underlying message hasn’t necessarily changed: If I can just get better at managing myself, I’ll finally be able to manage all of this. Sometimes developing new skills really does help. Stronger boundaries, more effective coping strategies, better communication, intentional rest, and greater awareness of what the body needs can all be meaningful. And sometimes the workload needs to change. Responsibility may need to be redistributed. A relationship may need attention. Expectations may need to be lowered. More support may be necessary. Something may need to be done imperfectly, postponed, delegated, or simply said no to. We can’t self-regulate our way out of every unsustainable situation. This is one of the things I appreciate about psychiatrist Pooja Lakshmin’s approach in Real Self-Care. She describes self-care not simply as something we do to recover from our lives, but as a process that can involve making difficult choices about how we actually live them. Sometimes caring for ourselves means setting a boundary rather than getting better at tolerating what is draining us. It might mean reconsidering an expectation rather than developing another strategy for meeting it. And sometimes it isn’t simply that something around us needs to change. Maybe we have changed. Priorities change across differnet seasons of life. Our definition of success may have expanded. Things that once felt worth sacrificing for may no longer feel worth the cost. Instead of only asking, How can I become better at handling this? different questions become possible: Should I actually have to handle all of this? Do I still want what all of this effort is supposed to give me? Why Slowing Down Can Feel Hard for High Achievers For someone who has spent years operating through urgency, productivity, vigilance, or constant mental activity, slowing down can feel surprisingly uncomfortable. Stillness may not immediately feel restorative. It may bring someone into contact with thoughts, emotions, or sensations that staying busy has helped keep at a distance. I see a version of this in therapy, too. High-achieving clients often bring tremendous insight into the room. They may already understand the pattern and be ready to analyze it, find the solution, and develop a plan. And then I might invite them to slow down. Notice your breath. Pay attention to tension in the shoulders. Notice what happens in the throat when imagining saying no. Stay curious about the irritation rather than immediately trying to get rid of it. For someone accustomed to solving problems through thinking and doing, this can almost feel too simple to matter. But the body may have information that another productivity strategy can’t provide. Am I tired? Am I overstimulated? Am I resentful? Do I need help? Have I been saying yes when I want to say no? What am I actually feeling underneath all of this? And perhaps another question: What do I actually want? Sometimes the body has been communicating the problem long before the thinking mind is willing to change the plan. Burnout Is Not Always Asking Us to Try Harder When being capable is part of an identity, reaching a limit can feel like a personal failure. But burnout may not be asking for a better, more efficient version of the person carrying everything. And the goal may not always be to restore enough capacity to return to carrying exactly what was being carried before. Perhaps burnout creates an opportunity to become curious about what is being carried, why it is being carried, and whether it is still worth carrying at all. Which expectations genuinely reflect current values? Which belong to the life someone actually wants to create? Which might belong to an older version of the self who learned that being useful, easy, strong, productive, or accomplished helped secure love, belonging, or significance? What genuinely needs attention in this season? What could be shared, changed, released, simplified, or done differently? And maybe the larger question is: What do I want my capacity to be in service of now? Burnout is not always a call to get back to who we were. Sometimes it may be an invitation to become more honest about who we are now. Resources for Burnout, Mental Load, and Self-Care If these ideas resonate, a few resources that explore related themes are: Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle by Emily Nagoski, PhD, and Amelia Nagoski, DMA. A helpful exploration of stress, burnout, and the stress cycle. Real Self-Care by Pooja Lakshmin, MD. I appreciate its movement away from self-care as another collection of wellness tasks and toward values, boundaries, agency, and the systems surrounding us. Fair Play by Eve Rodsky. A practical framework for identifying visible and invisible labor and creating a more intentional distribution of responsibility. Therapy for Burnout in High-Achieving Women in Rhode Island For people who appear capable on the outside while working incredibly hard underneath the surface, therapy can offer space to explore more than how to cope with everything on the plate. It can also become a place to consider what matters now, what no longer fits, and what may have taught someone to expect so much from themselves in the first place. In my work, I draw from EMDR, somatic therapy, attachment-focused therapy, and parts work to explore these patterns while helping clients reconnect with their needs, values, boundaries, and capacity. I offer in-person therapy in Cranston and North Kingstown, Rhode Island, as well as virtual therapy throughout Rhode Island. If you’re wondering whether we might be a good fit, you can learn more about my services, ask a question, or schedule a free 15-minute consultation.

One of the most frustrating places to find yourself in therapy is this: I know why I do this. So why am I still doing it? Maybe you notice yourself shutting down when you’re overwhelmed, overthinking a decision, becoming reactive with someone you love, avoiding something uncomfortable, or falling back into a familiar habit you thought you had moved beyond. You may understand exactly where the pattern comes from and still find yourself right back in it. Sometimes all of that self-awareness becomes another reason to criticize ourselves: I know better. Why can't I just change this? Insight is valuable, but insight is only part of the work. The other part is integration. Insight and Integration Are Not the Same Thing Insight helps us understand how we got here. We begin making connections between our present-day reactions and earlier experiences, relationships, beliefs, and ways we learned to protect ourselves. But understanding something intellectually doesn't necessarily mean our emotional responses have caught up. I sometimes use the language of our wise mind and our emotional parts with clients. Your wise mind may know you're allowed to say no, but when the moment comes, your throat tightens, your voice gets quieter, or you find yourself saying yes anyway. Your wise mind may know you're lovable, while another part of you still works hard to be helpful or needed in order to feel secure in that love. This is the space between insight and integration. When Self-Awareness Turns Into “I Should Know Better” I work with a lot of thoughtful, highly self-aware people who have spent years trying to understand themselves. Many of us have been doing some version of this since adolescence, starting with personality quizzes and horoscopes and eventually finding our way to attachment styles, Enneagrams, books, podcasts, and other ways of figuring ourselves out. But sometimes insight becomes another thing we use against ourselves. I know this is an old pattern. Why am I still doing it? I know where this comes from. Why can't I let it go? I think of this as the messy middle of healing. You have enough awareness to recognize the pattern, maybe even while it's happening, but knowing something and being able to respond differently are not the same thing. When Your Wise Mind Knows, but Another Part of You Responds Differently I've experienced this distinction in my own life. One of my values as a parent is creating a home where there is room for expression, learning, growth, and mistakes. I want my children to know they are safe when they make them. And yet, when my children were younger and something spilled, I sometimes noticed an immediate response in myself. My body would go into alarm, and what came out could sound like frustration or anger even though underneath it was fear. My wise mind knew I was the adult, I was creating the culture in our home, and a spilled drink wasn't dangerous. But a younger emotional part of me had learned something different: Mistakes aren't safe. I didn't need someone to explain to me that a spilled glass wasn't dangerous. I already knew that. What I needed was for another part of me to begin learning what my wise mind already understood. For me, this became something I worked with through EMDR. Rather than continuing to remind myself that spills were safe, I could work with some of the earlier experiences and associations connected to that automatic response. Over time, there was more space for me to respond in a way that aligned with the culture I wanted to create in my own home. The old belief was mistakes aren't safe. The belief I wanted to live from was mistakes are how we learn. Insight helped me understand why I was reacting. Integration helped me begin to respond differently. Why Understanding Your Patterns Doesn't Always Change Them We don't learn only through words and conscious thought. We also learn through experience, emotion, sensation, relationships, and repetition. That's part of why we can consciously believe one thing while having a very different automatic response. We can know we're allowed to have needs while feeling anxious when we express them. We can know someone can be disappointed with us and still love us while feeling compelled to fix their disappointment. Our thinking mind may understand something that another part of us is still learning. This doesn't mean insight hasn't worked or that we haven't understood ourselves well enough. It may simply mean there is another layer of the work. Moving From Insight to Integration This is one reason I integrate EMDR and somatic therapy into my work. Alongside understanding the story, we can pay attention to the beliefs, emotions, body sensations, and automatic responses connected to it. We can also begin experiencing and practicing something different in the present. Part of integration is moving away from self-criticism and toward acceptance and change. Instead of Why am I still doing this? I should know better, we might begin with: Okay, this is happening. How do I want to meet myself in this moment? Acceptance doesn't mean resigning ourselves to staying stuck. It means acknowledging what is happening without turning it into another reason to criticize ourselves. From there, we can become curious about what we need and open to responding differently. Maybe you notice your throat tighten when you want to say no and stay with yourself as you find your voice. Maybe you recognize the urge to earn someone's love without immediately acting on it. The goal isn't to never have an old response again. It's to have more awareness, flexibility, and choice in what happens next. From Knowing to Living Differently Healing isn't necessarily about accumulating more information about ourselves. Sometimes it's about meeting what we already know with less judgment and more curiosity, while remaining open to something different. Insight helps us make sense of how we got here. Acceptance allows us to meet ourselves where we are, and integration helps us begin to live differently. So if you understand your patterns but still feel stuck, perhaps the next question isn't Why am I still doing this? Maybe it's: This is what's happening right now. How do I want to meet myself here? EMDR and Trauma Therapy in Rhode Island This is much of the work I love doing with clients. Through EMDR, somatic therapy, and attachment-focused therapy, we can explore not only where old patterns came from, but what may help you begin experiencing and responding to things differently. I offer in-person therapy in Cranston and North Kingstown, Rhode Island, as well as virtual therapy throughout the state. If you have questions about therapy or are wondering whether we might be a good fit, you can learn more about my services, ask a question or schedule a free 15-minute consultation to talk about what you're looking for.

I came to perinatal mental health work from two directions: as a clinician and as a mother. In many ways, it was becoming a mother that showed me what was missing. I prepared for birth in many of the ways we are taught to prepare. There were appointments, books to read, things to buy, baby gear to research, and lists of everything we would need. I had a beautiful baby shower and so many of the things that were supposed to help me feel prepared. Looking back, though, there were deeply important parts of preparation that I didn't even know to consider. No one asked me how comfortable I was taking up space, how I related to pain and uncertainty, or how easily I could ask for help. No one asked me what it might be like to make noise during labor or what would happen inside of me if I didn't feel in control. No one helped me think about how comfortable I would feel advocating for myself if something didn't feel right. And no one prepared me for how becoming a mother might change the way I understood my own childhood. Then came postpartum. I remember completing the standard mental health screening at my 6-week postpartum visit. Ten questions about how I was doing. Those questions have value, and screening absolutely matters, but they didn't come close to getting to the heart of what I was experiencing. I struggled more silently than I would have expected, even with clinical training and mental health knowledge. That experience became part of what ultimately drew me more deeply into maternal mental health care and led me to become a Perinatal Mental Health Certified therapist through Postpartum Support International (PSI). Since doing this work, I can't tell you how many times I have heard a woman say some version of, I was prepared for birth. I wasn't prepared for what came after. And “what came after” can mean so many different things. For some women, there were unexpected complications during birth or a much more difficult physical recovery than anticipated. For others, there were concerns about the baby's health, feeding, weight gain, or development. Sometimes there was an unexpected NICU stay, and the postpartum experience a mother had imagined was suddenly replaced by medical equipment, separation, uncertainty, and fear. Sometimes everything appeared medically “fine,” but the transition itself was much harder than expected. Maybe the baby blues didn't seem to lift. Maybe anxiety began creeping into more and more of the day. Maybe she couldn't sleep even when the baby was sleeping, or frightening intrusive thoughts appeared that she was terrified to tell anyone about. Maybe she expected to feel an immediate connection with her baby and instead felt numb, frightened, overwhelmed, or simply unlike herself. She knew something didn't feel right, but she didn't have language for what was happening. And sometimes the people around her didn't have that language either. We often tell new mothers to “ask for help if you need it.” But in order to ask for help, a woman first has to recognize that what she is experiencing may require help. She needs language for it, and ideally, the people closest to her need some of that language, too. A partner needs to know what to notice. Family members need to understand that a perinatal mental health concern doesn't always look like a mother crying all day or saying she feels depressed. Women themselves deserve to know that postpartum anxiety, OCD, trauma responses, and other perinatal mood and anxiety disorders can show up in ways they may never have been taught to recognize. This is one of the reasons I have become so passionate about the idea that postpartum preparation should begin before postpartum. What If Birth Preparation Was About More Than Preparing for a Baby? Our culture has become very good at preparing materially for babies. We make registries, research strollers, decorate nurseries, attend classes, and buy gadgets designed to solve problems we don't even know whether we'll have yet. We have showers and gender reveals, and there seems to be an ever-growing list of things to plan, purchase, and do. Some of these things are joyful and helpful. I had a beautiful baby shower myself. I also remember feeling completely overwhelmed opening gift after gift in front of everyone. Then I felt guilty for feeling overwhelmed because I thought I was supposed to simply feel grateful. It seems like a small moment now, but I think it captured something I would come to understand much more deeply about motherhood. Two things can be true at the same time. You can be grateful and overwhelmed. You can desperately want a baby and struggle through pregnancy. You can love your baby more than you knew was possible and still grieve parts of your old life. You can experience motherhood as an incredible gift and also need somewhere to talk honestly about how hard it is. Those experiences do not cancel each other out. Perhaps preparing for motherhood means making room for that complexity before the baby ever arrives. Emotional Preparation for Birth Over the years, my understanding of birth preparation has expanded considerably. One resource that influenced me was Birthing From Within, which introduced me to ways of thinking about birth that extend beyond understanding the mechanics of labor. Today, when I work with women during pregnancy, we might use traditional talk therapy, expressive arts, somatic therapy, or values-based work to explore what birth brings up emotionally. What is your relationship with pain? What are your fears about birth? How comfortable are you making noise or taking up space? What happens inside of you when you don't feel in control? We might explore how easily you ask for help, whether you trust yourself to say no when something doesn't feel right, and how comfortable you feel advocating for yourself with an authority figure. We can also think about what you need from your partner or birth team in order to feel safe, respected, supported, and heard. These questions can be particularly meaningful for women with histories of trauma, anxiety, people-pleasing, body-image concerns, difficult family relationships, or experiences in which their needs and boundaries weren't always respected. Birth asks quite a lot of us. It asks us to inhabit a rapidly changing body, tolerate uncertainty, receive care, communicate our needs, and trust other people while remaining connected to ourselves. Those are things we can prepare for, too. The goal isn't to create the perfect birth experience. We cannot control birth that way. The goal is to enter the experience knowing yourself a little more deeply. Preparing for Postpartum, Not Just Birth There is another preparation conversation I wish we had more often: What will you actually need after the baby comes? For me, one of the answers was remarkably simple. Food. I needed someone to nourish me (literally and emotionally). In hindsight, I didn't necessarily need more things. I needed care. Since then, I've learned about beautiful ways people are reimagining preparation for postpartum. Friends and family can organize meal trains or gather before birth to prepare freezer meals together. I've also facilitated blessingways, gatherings that focus less on gifts for the baby and more on honoring, nurturing, and supporting the woman who is becoming a mother. There isn't one right way to prepare. That's actually the point. Instead of simply replicating what everyone around us is doing, we can ask what would genuinely support you. Who will feed you? Who can you call when you haven't slept? Who can come over and care for you without expecting you to host them? Who will notice how you are doing rather than only asking about the baby? Does your partner know what changes in your mental health to pay attention to? Do you both know what you will do if you begin feeling unlike yourself? What will you do when you're both exhausted? Who is part of your village, and what will you actually need from them? These are postpartum mental health questions. And I believe they are birth preparation questions, too. Perinatal Mental Health Is More Than Postpartum Depression When people hear “maternal mental health,” they often immediately think about postpartum depression. But perinatal mental health is much broader. The perinatal period generally includes pregnancy through the first year postpartum. During this period, women can experience depression, anxiety, OCD, trauma symptoms, intrusive thoughts, and other perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, often referred to as PMADs. There are also experiences that can increase vulnerability or require more specialized support, including a traumatic birth, pregnancy or infant loss, medical complications, or having a baby admitted to the NICU. This is one reason specialized perinatal mental health care matters. As a Perinatal Mental Health Certified therapist, I have advanced training in recognizing and screening for perinatal mental health concerns and helping women access appropriate support and intervention when needed. But I also want women to know something important. You don't need to have a diagnosis to deserve support during this transition. Therapy can be preventative. It can be preparatory. It can simply be a place to tell the whole truth about what becoming a mother is actually like. Birth Trauma, NICU Experiences, and EMDR Therapy Not every birth feels beautiful or empowering. Sometimes birth is frightening. Sometimes it is medically complicated. Sometimes a woman feels powerless, unheard, frightened for herself or her baby, or disconnected from what is happening to her body. Sometimes a baby requires NICU care, and the beginning a mother imagined is suddenly replaced by medical equipment, separation, uncertainty, and fear. You can be profoundly grateful that you and your baby are okay and still feel traumatized by what happened. Both can be true. This is one area where I may incorporate EMDR therapy into my work with mothers. When an experience remains emotionally or physically “stuck,” EMDR can help process aspects of the experience that the nervous system may still be responding to as though the danger is happening now. We aren't trying to erase what happened. We are helping your mind and body integrate the experience so that the past can begin to feel like the past. Motherhood Can Wake Up Your Own Childhood This is one of the most profound things I see in maternal mental health therapy. Sometimes becoming a mother changes the way you understand being a daughter. A woman may look at her baby and experience a love and protectiveness that feels almost indescribable. And then another thought appears. Why didn't someone protect me like this? Why wasn't my mother more emotionally available to me? Why was I expected to handle so much on my own? If my parents loved me, why did growing up hurt so much? Experiences that we previously minimized, rationalized, or simply learned to live with can look very different when viewed through the eyes of a mother. Motherhood doesn't necessarily create these wounds. Sometimes it gives us new eyes with which to see them. Old attachment wounds, mother wounds, emotional neglect, unmet childhood needs, and what I sometimes think of as frozen grief can begin coming to the surface. That can be painful. It can also become an invitation to heal. When Your Coping Skills No Longer Match Your Stress I sometimes think about mental health as the relationship between what we're carrying and the resources we have available to carry it. Before becoming a mother, perhaps your coping skills adequately matched your stress. You exercised. You slept. You saw friends. You went to therapy. You had routines. You had quiet. You could take a break after a difficult day. Then you had a baby. The coping skills didn't necessarily disappear. The equation changed. Now there may be sleep deprivation, feeding, physical recovery, hormonal changes, relationship adjustments, childcare, work, financial pressures, and the relentless responsibility of meeting another person's needs. And there may be far less time and space available to care for yourself. Suddenly, the things that worked before aren't enough. That doesn't necessarily mean you're failing at coping. It may mean the amount you're carrying has changed. Therapy can help us find that gap and begin asking a more useful question: What do I need now? Pregnancy, Postpartum, Body Image, and Eating Concerns Pregnancy and postpartum also ask women to navigate enormous physical changes in a culture that already places tremendous pressure on women's bodies. For someone with a history of disordered eating, body dysmorphia, restriction, binge eating, compulsive exercise, or body shame, pregnancy and postpartum can be especially complicated. There can be joy about what your body is doing alongside discomfort with how it looks or feels. There can be a desire to nourish your body alongside fear about weight changes or a sense of losing control. Old eating disorder thoughts or behaviors can sometimes resurface during periods of significant change or stress. This is one place where somatic therapy and mind-body awareness can become particularly useful. The goal isn't to demand that you love every change your body goes through. Instead, we can work toward remaining connected to your body, noticing what is happening within it, responding to its needs, and developing a more compassionate relationship with the body carrying you through this transition. Matrescence: You Aren't Just Having a Baby. You're Becoming a Mother. There is another word I wish more women knew: matrescence. Matrescence describes the developmental transition of becoming a mother. I think naming it matters because a baby isn't the only one being born. A mother is emerging, too. Across cultures and throughout history, transitions into motherhood have often been witnessed and supported by community, elders, and other women. Today, many women describe feeling profoundly alone while trying to figure it all out. So we turn to the village available at 2 a.m. We scroll. We search. We compare ourselves to strangers. We look for the right sleep schedule, feeding approach, parenting philosophy, developmental activity, routine, or method that will somehow confirm that we're doing this correctly. We have access to an extraordinary amount of information. But information isn't the same thing as support. Sometimes what we need isn't another answer from the internet. We need a warm, grounded, regulated person in the room with us. Someone who can help us sort through all of the noise and ask a different question. What matters to you? This is where I often incorporate values-based work from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. Your values can become your compass as you navigate motherhood. Instead of asking what you are supposed to be doing, we can begin asking who you want to be as a mother. What matters in your family? What do you want your children to experience in relationship with you? What patterns do you want to carry forward, and which patterns might end with you? And perhaps one of the most important questions is this: How can I remain connected to myself while becoming a mother? You Don't Have to Wait Until You're Struggling If there is one thing I wish more women knew, it is that therapy during pregnancy and postpartum does not have to begin when something is wrong. It can be part of the preparation. We can prepare for birth by learning about labor and making decisions about where and how we hope to deliver. We can prepare materially by choosing the car seat, setting up the nursery, and making sure we have the things our baby will need. But we can also prepare emotionally. We can talk about what birth brings up for you before you are in the middle of it. We can explore your relationship with pain, control, vulnerability, asking for help, and self-advocacy. We can think about your mental health history and identify places where you may be more vulnerable during pregnancy or postpartum. We can prepare the people around you, too. We can talk about what support actually feels supportive to you, what your partner should know, what changes you both might pay attention to, and who you will call if you begin to feel unlike yourself. And we can prepare for the transition that happens beyond birth. Because you are not only preparing to care for a baby. You are preparing for a significant transition in your own body, relationships, identity, rhythms, and sense of self. You are becoming a mother. You deserve care in that transition, too. Perinatal and Postpartum Therapy in Rhode Island I offer specialized perinatal and maternal mental health therapy for women during pregnancy, postpartum, and the transition into motherhood. I see clients in person in Cranston, Rhode Island, and virtually throughout the state. As a Perinatal Mental Health Certified therapist, my work may include emotional birth preparation, postpartum anxiety or depression, birth trauma, NICU experiences, pregnancy after loss, body image and eating concerns, relationship changes, matrescence, and the attachment or childhood wounds that motherhood sometimes brings back to the surface. Depending on your needs, I may integrate EMDR, somatic therapy, expressive arts, attachment-focused therapy, and values-based work into our sessions. You do not need to know exactly what you need before reaching out. You also do not need to wait until you are in crisis. If you are pregnant, postpartum, or navigating the transition into motherhood and wondering whether therapy might be supportive, I offer a free 15-minute consultation. We can talk about what is bringing you to therapy, what you are looking for, and whether my approach feels like a good fit. Schedule a Free 15-Minute Consultation Learn More Perinatal & Maternal Mental Health Therapy: Learn more about my specialized approach to supporting women through pregnancy, postpartum, and the transition into motherhood. Explore Perinatal & Maternal Mental Health Therapy EMDR Therapy: Learn more about EMDR and how I use trauma-focused therapy to support healing from experiences that continue to feel unresolved. Explore EMDR Therapy Additional Maternal Mental Health Support Postpartum Support International offers education, support groups, provider resources, and additional support for pregnant and postpartum individuals and their families. Visit Postpartum Support International

I work with a surprising number of people who, for very different reasons, arrive in therapy struggling to trust themselves. They don't always use those words. They might tell me they want to feel more confident or authentic. They want to stop second-guessing themselves, use their voice more, set boundaries without feeling guilty, or make decisions without endlessly wondering if they've gotten something wrong. Underneath many of these goals are questions about self-trust. Can I trust what I feel, remember, and perceive? Can I trust what my body is telling me? Can I know what I want without needing someone else to validate it first? And perhaps most importantly, can I trust myself enough to act on what I know? How Do We Lose Trust in Ourselves? There isn't one path to self-doubt. For someone with OCD, doubt itself can become part of the struggle. OCD can keep a person looping through questions, checking, reviewing, seeking reassurance, or searching for a level of certainty that never quite arrives. For others, the roots of self-doubt may be relational. I work with many adults who grew up in families affected by alcoholism, substance use, personality disorders, emotional immaturity, or other forms of instability. In some of these families, children learn very early that trusting their own experience can be complicated. This can happen in many different ways: A child knows that something is wrong while everyone around them behaves as though everything is fine. They experience gaslighting, secrecy, denial, or minimization and begin to question their own perception of what is happening. They learn that maintaining peace in the family means prioritizing a parent's emotional state over their own. They become highly skilled at sensing what everyone else needs while becoming increasingly disconnected from what they need themselves. They receive messages, directly or indirectly, that certain feelings are too much, inappropriate, or inconvenient. When what we perceive repeatedly conflicts with what we are told, it can become difficult to know what is real or true. Over time, we may begin looking outside of ourselves for confirmation of what we think, feel, want, or need. This process doesn't always happen through significant trauma or obvious family dysfunction. Sometimes the disconnection is much more subtle. Imagine a young child falls down and immediately begins crying. A loving, well-intentioned caregiver responds, “You're fine.” Meanwhile, the child's body is communicating something entirely different: I'm not fine right now. Of course, most parents have said some version of this. The intention is usually reassurance. These small moments aren't inherently harmful. But they illustrate something important about how children develop: we learn about ourselves partly through the people caring for us. If our feelings are repeatedly minimized, explained away, compared to someone else's suffering, or quickly reframed with statements like “It could be worse” or “You have so much to be grateful for,” we may slowly learn to question our own experience. Instead of asking, What am I feeling?, we begin asking, What am I supposed to be feeling? Your Inner World Matters We all have an outer life and an inner life. Our outer lives are full. As children, there is school, family, friendships, activities, learning, expectations and community. As adults, those external demands only multiply through work, relationships, parenting, responsibilities and the many roles we occupy. But alongside that outer world is an incredibly rich inner world. This is the world of sensations and emotions, images and imagination, desires and preferences, creativity and intuition. It is where our emerging sense of self begins to take shape. Ideally, caregivers help children stay tethered to that inner world while learning how to navigate the outer one. An attuned caregiver might help a child notice what is happening inside rather than immediately defining the experience for them. They might wonder with the child about what they're feeling, notice a change in their body, invite their opinion, or communicate that they are allowed to have an experience that is different from someone else's. Through interactions like these, a child gradually learns: What happens inside me is worth noticing. Not everyone receives that kind of consistent attunement. Some children become much more practiced at reading the external environment. They learn to monitor someone's mood, anticipate what might happen next, determine what answer another person wants, or figure out what version of themselves will create the least amount of disruption. That ability to read other people can become incredibly sophisticated while the ability to hear oneself becomes quieter. Years later, that child may become an adult who genuinely doesn't know what they want. They may wonder whether they're overreacting, question their memories, look to other people to make decisions, or assume that someone else's certainty must be more trustworthy than their own experience. Rebuilding Your Inner Authority This is why I don't think rebuilding self-trust is simply about becoming more confident. For me, it is about reconnecting with what I think of as your inner authority. I love the connection between authority and author. Part of this work is developing the ability to author your own story rather than continually looking outside yourself for someone else to tell you what is real, acceptable, important, or true about your experience. That doesn't mean believing that everything we think or feel is objectively correct. Our perceptions can be incomplete. We can misunderstand other people. Trauma can cause something in the present to feel threatening because it resembles something that was threatening in the past. Healthy self-trust leaves room for curiosity, reflection, new information, and even changing our minds. The difference is that our own experience gets a seat at the table. Instead of immediately asking what everyone else thinks, we can begin turning inward with curiosity. What am I noticing? What emotion is here? What is happening in my body? What do I actually want? Does something about this feel wrong to me? What matters to me here? And sometimes, an especially revealing question is: What might I choose if I weren't organizing this decision entirely around someone else's response? How to Rebuild Self-Trust Rebuilding self-trust often happens through small, ordinary experiences rather than one dramatic breakthrough. It can mean choosing what you actually want instead of automatically saying, “I don't care.” It can mean noticing you're tired before you reach complete depletion or acknowledging that something hurt even when the other person didn't intend to hurt you. It might mean allowing yourself to dislike something without building a case for why you're entitled to dislike it. You might practice expressing a preference, changing your mind, setting a boundary, or saying no without first determining whether someone else believes your reason is good enough. It also means learning to listen to your body. Sometimes tension, anxiety, anger, heaviness, or the urge to pull away contains information worth exploring. We don't have to obey every feeling or sensation, but we can become curious about what it might be communicating instead of immediately overriding it. Each of these experiences helps strengthen the connection between what happens inside of you and the choices you make in your outer life. How Therapy Can Help You Trust Yourself Again Therapy can provide a space to practice this reconnection. I don't see my role as becoming another authority who tells you who you are or what you should do. Instead, therapy can help you become increasingly able to hear and understand yourself. Sometimes that means examining old narratives and messages you've carried for years. Sometimes it means developing greater awareness of emotions and body sensations that you learned to override. For others, it may involve processing traumatic experiences that continue to influence how safe it feels to trust their own perceptions. It can also mean learning to tolerate uncertainty. Self-trust doesn't require absolute certainty before we make a choice. Sometimes it means gathering the information available to us, listening inward, making the best decision we can, and trusting ourselves to respond to whatever comes next. Over time, you may begin to notice that you aren't explaining yourself quite as much. Decisions may come a little more easily. You may recognize your needs sooner, use your voice more readily, or discover that another person's disappointment doesn't automatically mean you've done something wrong. Perhaps rebuilding self-trust isn't about reaching a place where you never doubt yourself again. It is learning that when doubt arrives, you don't have to abandon yourself. You can listen to yourself, remain curious, gather information and change your mind when new information warrants it. Through all of that, you can stay connected to your own inner authority. You can become the author of your own life. Therapy for Self-Trust, Trauma and Anxiety in Rhode Island If you recognize yourself in this and are looking for support rebuilding self-trust, reconnecting with your emotions, understanding old patterns, or feeling more grounded in who you are, therapy can be a place to begin. My approach is warm, relational and trauma-informed, integrating EMDR, somatic work, attachment-focused therapy and other mind-body approaches. Together, we can explore not only the patterns that are showing up now, but also what shaped them and what may help you reconnect with yourself. I currently offer in-person therapy in Cranston and North Kingstown, Rhode Island, as well as virtual therapy throughout Rhode Island. Ready to explore working together? Schedule a complimentary 15-minute consultation here so we can talk about what you're looking for, answer a few initial questions, and see whether we might be a good fit. Want to learn a little more first? You can explore my therapy services or contact me with a question.

For years, I refused to stop and ask for directions. Even when I was hopelessly lost, something in me would tighten at the thought of pulling over, rolling down the window, and admitting I didn’t know. It wasn’t just about finding the right road—it was about what it meant to be seen in uncertainty. Underneath it all was a quiet, crushing shame that said: "You should already know this." (And yes, this was before the days of GPS—when asking a stranger was often the only way to reroute.) 🧠 When Knowing = Safety This isn't just about directions. It’s about survival. I see this belief show up all the time in my work with clients—especially those who grew up in high-pressure, emotionally unpredictable, or chaotic. In those systems, not knowing often meant being criticized, overlooked, or left behind. So a part of you stepped up. A part that learned to anticipate, research, prepare, stay two steps ahead. A part that became the one who knew. In many families—especially larger ones—children were quietly deputized into the emotional labor of the household. They became caregivers, organizers, emotional buffers. They figured things out, because someone had to. Because their parents were overwhelmed, under-supported, and often trying to survive themselves. This is a personal wound with a systemic backdrop: A culture that fails to support parents especially mothers. A society that glorifies self-sacrifice. A system that doesn’t make space for asking, resting, or not knowing. Over time, knowing became your role. And your worth got tangled up in it. 🎭 The Part That Carries It All This part is often praised. It looks like high functioning. It sounds like “You’re so organized,” or “You always know what to do.” But inside, it can feel like pressure. Perfectionism. Exhaustion. And it’s usually protecting something much younger and more tender: The child who was left to figure it out alone. The teen who was praised for maturity but never allowed to be messy. The one who learned: if I don’t know, I don’t belong. This part isn't bad. It’s brilliant. It adapted. It kept you safe. It gave you something to hold onto. But it’s tired now. And it may be time to ask: What if you didn’t have to hold it all anymore? 💻 When the Internet Feeds the Fear In today’s culture of constant input, this part has endless ways to stay activated. There’s always another podcast. Another expert. Another post that says this is the thing you’ve been missing. And while information can be empowering, it can also be addictive—especially when it’s trying to soothe an unhealed wound. The more you feed this part, the more it craves because it’s not really hungry for knowledge. It’s hungry for relief, for permission to rest and for someone to say: You don’t have to earn your place by having all the answers. 💬 A Gentle Invitation If this resonates, I invite you to pause—not to fix, solve, or research—but simply to notice. Bring to mind something uncertain in your life right now. Something unresolved. Something foggy. Ask yourself with compassion: – Is there a part of me that feels responsible for knowing? – What is it afraid would happen if I didn’t? – How long has it carried this role? – Has it ever been praised or rewarded for its knowing? Then gently shift to your body: – Where do I feel this pressure to know? – Is there a tightness, a buzzing, a bracing? – What happens if I thank this part—not for being right, but for trying so hard? Let yourself pause. Let the question hang. Let this moment be enough. 🌙 In the Space of Not Knowing You don’t need to know everything. You don’t need to be everything. You get to be here, in the mystery. Not-knowing is not failure. It’s not weakness. It’s space. Its presence. It’s the quiet breath between chapters. Sometimes, the part of you that doesn’t know is the one that finally gets to rest. So let this part rest. Let this part lay it all down. Let this part feel held, not hurried. I'm rooting for you- Shaelyn

It's not just emotional—it's neurological. You know you should set the boundary. You even want to set the boundary. But the words catch in your throat.Your chest tightens. Your whole body tenses like you’re doing something dangerous. Here’s the thing: to your nervous system, you might be. Why Saying No Feels So Hard (Even When It’s Right) We tend to think of boundaries as a mindset—something we just need to “get better at.” But in truth, boundaries are deeply embodied. They live in the nervous system, shaped by past experiences and old survival patterns. If you grew up in an environment where: Saying no led to conflict, disconnection, or punishment You were praised for being selfless, quiet, or “easy” You felt responsible for the emotions or needs of others Then your nervous system may have learned that saying no = threat. And your body remembers. Even if you now know better, your nervous system still whispers: “This could be dangerous.” The Science Behind It When we perceive a boundary as a threat, our brain activates the amygdala—the part responsible for scanning for danger. It cues the fight/flight/freeze/fawn response to keep us safe. In this case, "safe" might mean staying likable, avoiding rejection, or minimizing discomfort for others. Your vagus nerve, which plays a big role in regulation, might go offline in those moments. Instead of calm clarity, you feel disoriented, anxious, or frozen. This doesn’t mean you’re broken.It means your system is doing what it was wired to do: protect connection—even at the cost of self. 🧠✨ Boundary Language Breakdown A quick guide to what we really mean when we talk about boundaries. Term What It Is Example Boundary A personal limit based on your needs, values, or capacity. “I don’t check work emails after 6pm.” Limit A firm no—something you won’t do or allow. “I’m not available for conversations when I’m being yelled at.” Expectation A belief or hope about how someone will behave—often unspoken or assumed. “I expect my partner to text if they’ll be late.” Request A direct ask that leaves space for yes or no. “Can you give me a heads-up next time plans change?” 🌿 Boundaries are about what you will do. Expectations are about what others might do. Requests are how you bridge the two. What Helps 1. Normalize the Response There’s nothing wrong with you. This is not about weakness or lack of willpower. It’s about safety. When you start to understand that your resistance to boundaries is protective, you can meet it with compassion. Try saying: “Of course this feels hard. My body is trying to keep me safe.” 2. Start Small + Practice Safety You don’t have to start with your most triggering relationship. Choose a lower-stakes “no” and notice how your body responds. Support yourself with grounding tools or co-regulation if needed. Somatic support: Try holding your heart and belly while saying, “It’s safe to speak my truth, even gently.” 3. Rewire Through Repetition + Repair Each time you set a boundary and survive it, you build new evidence for your nervous system:“I can say no and still belong.” and “I can hold my truth and still be loved.” Over time, your brain learns that safety can include self-honoring. You Can Have Boundaries and Belonging Boundaries aren’t walls. They’re bridges. They allow us to show up more honestly, love more fully, and stay connected to ourselves and others. So if saying no feels like a threat—you're not failing. You're awakening. You're untangling. You're learning how to be safe being you. One boundary, one breath, one brave yes/no at a time. Sources:• The Body Keeps the Score – Bessel van der Kolk, M.D.• Polyvagal Theory – Stephen Porges, Ph.D.• Set Boundaries, Find Peace – Nedra Glover Tawwab, LCSW• Attached – Amir Levine, M.D. & Rachel Heller• The Drama of the Gifted Child – Alice Miller

Do you feel guilty saying no? Do you worry about disappointing people, even when you're doing what is best for you? Do you find yourself overexplaining, overcommitting, or putting other people's needs ahead of your own, only to feel exhausted, resentful, or disconnected from yourself? If so, you may be struggling with people pleasing. People pleasing is often talked about as a personality trait. Something that means you're nice, caring, or thoughtful. While those qualities may be present, I think people pleasing is often something deeper. What Is People Pleasing, Really? At its core, people pleasing is usually a form of self-protection. It is a strategy we learn to keep ourselves safe. If I can keep you happy, maybe you won't be angry. If I can meet your needs, maybe you won't reject me. If I can avoid disappointing you, maybe I won't have to feel guilty, ashamed, anxious, or responsible for your feelings. From the outside, it looks like the focus is on the other person. Underneath, the focus is often on avoiding our own discomfort. In that way, people pleasing is less about pleasing others and more about protecting ourselves from difficult emotions. For many people, this pattern begins early in life. Perhaps there was conflict in your home, a parent was emotionally unpredictable, love felt conditional or being agreeable, helpful, and easy-going earned approval and connection. Over time, your nervous system learned an important lesson: it is safer to manage other people's emotions than it is to feel my own. The challenge is that what once helped us survive can eventually keep us stuck. People pleasing can make it difficult to know what we want, difficult to say no, difficult to set boundaries, and difficult to trust ourselves. Eventually, many people find themselves asking: Why do I feel disconnected from myself? Why Do I Feel Guilty When I Set Boundaries? One of the biggest obstacles to healing people pleasing is guilt. Many people know exactly what boundary they need to set. They know they need more rest. They know they need to say no. They know they cannot keep carrying what they have been carrying. Yet the moment they imagine disappointing someone, guilt rushes in. If you've ever wondered why you feel guilty saying no or guilty after setting boundaries, you're not alone. What often surprises my clients is that not all guilt is the same. Healthy Guilt vs. Toxic Guilt Healthy guilt occurs when we step outside of our own values. If I value kindness and say something hurtful, I may feel guilty. If I value honesty and tell a lie, I may feel guilty. This kind of guilt serves an important purpose. It helps us recognize when our behavior is out of alignment and motivates us to make repair. Healthy guilt says: "This isn't who I want to be." But many people pleasers are not experiencing this kind of guilt. They have not violated their own values. They have violated someone else's expectations. And those are very different things. Have You Violated Your Values or Someone Else's Expectations? This is one of my favorite questions to explore with clients: Have I violated my values, or have I violated someone else's expectations? Sometimes what we call guilt is actually something else entirely. Sometimes it is the discomfort of disappointing someone. Sometimes it is fear, grief, anxiety or the vulnerability of being seen differently than we have been seen before. Imagine you grew up in a family where saying no was viewed as selfish. Where everyone was expected to be available, boundaries were interpreted as rejection, and/or emotional closeness depended on compliance and caretaking. In a system like that, choosing yourself may feel wrong. Not because it is wrong but because it is unfamiliar. If your family values enmeshment and you value freedom, autonomy, or individuality, stepping toward your values may create discomfort. Yet discomfort is not always evidence that something is wrong. Sometimes it is evidence that something is changing. How Therapy Can Help You Stop People Pleasing In my work with clients, we often slow down and get curious about what people pleasing is trying to protect. Together, we explore the fears underneath the behavior: fear of conflict, rejection, abandonment, disapproval, or being seen as selfish. We reconnect to your values, needs, and desires because many people pleasers have become experts at tracking everyone else's inner world while losing touch with their own. We explore questions such as: What am I afraid will happen if I disappoint someone? What feeling am I trying to avoid? Where did I learn that other people's needs mattered more than my own? What does this part of me believe would happen if I chose myself? The goal is not to stop caring about others. The goal is to care about yourself, too. The Real Work of Healing People Pleasing Healing people pleasing is not about becoming less caring. It is not about becoming selfish. And it is certainly not about stopping kindness. The work is learning to stay connected to yourself while someone else is disappointed, learning to tolerate the feelings you once worked so hard to avoid and recognizing that another person's reaction is not always evidence that you have done something wrong. Sometimes the guilt you feel is not a sign that you have violated your values. Sometimes it is simply the growing pains of living in alignment with them. You can be kind without abandoning yourself. You can be compassionate without carrying responsibility for everyone else's feelings. You can disappoint someone and still be a good person. And perhaps most importantly, you can remain true to yourself, even when others wish you would choose differently. If people pleasing, difficulty setting boundaries, anxiety, perfectionism, or relationship patterns are keeping you stuck, therapy can help you reconnect with your values, strengthen your sense of self, and learn new ways of relating to yourself and others. You don't have to earn connection through self-abandonment. You May Also Enjoy Beyond People Pleasing: Understanding the Fawn Response and Reconnecting to Self How Emotional Caregiving Shapes Us and How We Begin to Reclaim Ourselves: Healing the Parentified Daughter Naming What Was Missing | Understanding the Mother Wound and Mother Hunger How to Stay Connected in Conflict: Alignment, Boundaries, and Curiosity

A trauma-informed reflection on healing the shame around being a highly sensitive person For many people, sensitivity was not just misunderstood growing up—it was subtly or overtly shamed. A sigh when they cried, a sarcastic comment when they got overwhelmed, or an accusation of being dramatic or too emotional. Over time, these moments send a message: your way of feeling the world is wrong. In my work as a trauma therapist and coach, I meet so many clients who have internalized the idea that their sensitivity is a flaw. They come in exhausted, confused, and often carrying a deep belief that they are too much. But more often than not, what they are carrying is not a problem within them. It is a response to being a highly sensitive person in a world that has not always known how to meet them. A highly sensitive person (HSP) is someone with a more finely tuned nervous system. Research by Dr. Elaine Aron shows that about 15 to 20 percent of people fall into this category. HSPs process sensory input and emotional information more deeply. They tend to notice subtleties in their environment, feel more affected by relational conflict, and often need more rest and nervous system support after stimulation. Sensitivity is not a disorder. It is a trait. But when that trait is met with invalidation, shame often takes hold. When a sensitive child grows up in an environment that discourages emotional expression, they may begin to believe they are the problem. Instead of receiving co-regulation, they are told to stop crying, calm down, or toughen up. Their authentic reactions are dismissed or mocked, and they begin to internalize a harmful belief: “If I feel this much, there must be something wrong with me.” Over time, this leads to emotional suppression, perfectionism, or people-pleasing. These are protective strategies, often developed unconsciously, to avoid rejection and stay safe in relationships. In trauma healing work, we explore how these early experiences shape nervous system responses and relational patterns. Many highly sensitive people struggle with emotional regulation not because they are weak or unstable, but because their early environments taught them to distrust their internal cues. Somatic therapy helps people reconnect with their body’s wisdom. It allows space to notice how shame feels in the body, where it lives, and how it may still influence present-day thoughts, choices, and relationships. Releasing shame begins with curiosity. Instead of asking, “Why am I like this?” we begin to ask, “Where did I learn this about myself?” Clients often discover that what they believed were personal flaws were actually adaptive responses to invalidating or emotionally neglectful environments. This awareness can be both painful and liberating. It opens the door to practicing self-compassion and building nervous system regulation from a place of respect, not rejection. Healing does not require that we become less sensitive. It invites us to become more supported. With the right tools and relationships, sensitivity can become a strength. Sensitive people often have deep capacity for empathy, creativity, and connection. When they are no longer carrying the weight of shame, they begin to thrive. They learn how to discern what is theirs to feel and what is not. They learn how to set boundaries without guilt. They learn how to regulate their emotions without disconnecting from them. They learn how to live in their bodies with a sense of safety and choice. If you recognize yourself in this, know that you are not alone. There is nothing wrong with the way you feel. Sensitivity is not a flaw to fix, but a trait to honor. You are allowed to feel deeply and still be grounded. You are allowed to set limits and still be kind. You are allowed to be sensitive and strong. If you would like support in learning how to work with your sensitivity rather than against it, I offer trauma-informed therapy and somatic coaching for highly sensitive people. Together, we can explore the roots of your patterns, support your nervous system, and help you reclaim sensitivity as a source of strength. If you're interested in learning more about how we can work together, I invite you to book a free consultation session. It would be an honor to support you on your healing path.

A soulful reflection for those who know how to disappear behind doing, and who are ready to be seen in their full humanity. As children, we played hide and seek with squeals and laughter, hearts pounding behind couch cushions or trees, waiting to be found. It was a game of presence and pursuit—of disappearing and then being discovered. But for many of us, the game never really ended. We learned to hide in different ways. Behind achievement. Behind our smiles. Behind the to-do list, the role, the mask. We buried ourselves beneath what was expected of us—quietly struggling, quietly striving, quietly wondering if anyone saw the fullness of who we really were. And yet, even in all that hiding, there’s always been a seeker inside. The one who devoured self-help books before knowing what healing truly meant. The one who took every quiz in Seventeen, explored Enneagram types, Human Design, horoscopes, natal charts, or pulled Tarot cards in quiet moments—falling down online rabbit holes just trying to understand, why am I the way I am? The one who tucked spiritual podcasts into morning commutes, the one who journaled late at night trying to make sense of it all. The hiders I work with are seekers, too. They always have been. They are the quiet cycle-breakers. The ones who began self-reflecting before they even had language for their pain. The ones who thought if they could just improve enough, fix enough, figure it all out, they could finally earn peace. By the time they find their way to me, they’ve been riding the self-improvement train for years. And something in them is tired. Not in a defeated way—In a wise, soul-weary, ready-for-something-real kind of way. Together, we begin to play a different game. One not about hiding or even seeking. But about being seen. It’s not about fixing what's “wrong” with you. It’s about finally getting to know what’s true about you. This is the tender work of self-knowing and self-acceptance. Of honoring your quirks, your rhythms, your emotions, your longings. Of building a life that supports your sensitivities, instead of asking you to hide them. A life that honors your needs instead of overriding them. A life that doesn’t demand perfection—but invites you to belong to yourself. This is the game I know well. Because I’ve played it, too. I’ve hidden. I’ve sought. I’ve softened. And now, I hold the lantern for others. So if you’re someone who’s hidden behind strength or silence and still finds yourself seeking. Come closer. There’s another way. Not hide and seek. But see and be seen. And you don’t have to play it alone. rooting for you, Shaelyn

Because not all tired is physical. And not all rest is sleep. Dear one, I see how tired you are. Not just the kind of tired that begs for a nap—though maybe that too. But the soul-deep weariness. The kind that accumulates slowly. The kind you try to push through. The kind that doesn’t always make sense on paper, but you feel it in your bones. There are many kinds of tired. Some of them look like: Physical exhaustion from overdoing, under-sleeping, over-caring, under-nourishing. The chronic depletion that comes from imbalance—of giving more than you receive, doing more than you rest. The quiet drain of living outside your values. Saying yes when you mean no. Smiling when something aches. The invisible weight of internalized beliefs—I must perform to be loved. I can’t show weakness. I need to keep it all together. The tension of holding it all in: emotions, grief, needs, longing. The ache of a desire denied or a life not fully lived. This kind of tired doesn’t always announce itself with drama. Sometimes it arrives as a whisper: You don’t feel like yourself. You snap more easily. You feel foggy, numb, irritable, distant from joy. And then, over time, if it’s not met with care, it calcifies. It settles into the body. Sometimes it becomes anxiety. Sometimes it becomes depression. As Mark Nepo says, “That which is not expressed is depressed.” To the tired part of you: you don’t need to try harder. You need to be held. Held in compassion. Held in honesty. Held without hurry. This is your invitation to stop striving and start listening. To unclench. To exhale. To put down the mask or the armor—just for a moment—and feel what’s underneath. Maybe what you need isn’t another strategy. Maybe it’s permission. To rest. To soften. To want. To matter. Because you do. Your needs matter. Your longing matters. Your tiredness is a message, not a failure. Let this be your sacred pause. Not to fix anything. Not to explain. Just to say: I see you. You are not lazy. You are not broken. You are not too much. You are carrying a lot. And you’re allowed to rest. Held, not hurried. That’s how you’ll find your way back. rooting for you, Shaelyn

Understanding the Many Parts That Live Within You The other day, I sat down at my desk to start a project I’d been putting off. One part of me was ready to dive in: “Let’s be productive and finally check this off the list!” Another part chimed in: “But what if it’s not good enough? Maybe you should research a little more first.” And then another whispered: “Honestly? I just want a snack and a nap.” Three minutes in, I hadn’t written a word — but I was already hosting an entire inner conversation. If this sounds familiar, you're not broken. You're human. We all have many different parts inside of us, each with its own voice, agenda, and need. Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy helps us understand those inner voices—not as distractions or flaws, but as valuable parts of who we are. So... what is IFS therapy? IFS is a model of therapy that views the mind as made up of distinct parts — inner voices or sub-personalities that take on different roles to help us navigate life. Some parts are protectors. Some carry wounds. Some try to help us feel safe, seen, or successful — even if their strategies aren’t always helpful anymore. IFS helps us build relationships with these parts, and strengthens our connection to our Self — that calm, compassionate, grounded center that can lead with clarity and care. A few common parts you might recognize: The Inner Critic, keeping you in check The Overachiever, who doesn’t know how to rest The Caretaker, who always puts others first The Shut Down Part, who checks out when life feels overwhelming The Inner Child, who still longs for softness, safety, and playful joy The Maximizer, who always wants to turn everything into an opportunity Each part has its own history, fears, and hopes. IFS isn’t about getting rid of parts — it’s about getting to know them. Here's a fun video clip to help you conceptualize parts work. What makes IFS different? Many therapeutic models focus on managing symptoms. IFS focuses on building relationships — with every part of you. IFS believes: Every part has a positive intent, even if its methods are extreme or outdated No part needs to be exiled or silenced You are not your parts — you are your Self, your true inner leader Healing happens when parts feel seen, heard, and supported What does IFS look like in therapy? In IFS sessions, you might: Gently identify your different parts Notice when and why certain parts show up Develop curiosity instead of judgment Unburden parts carrying pain or old protective roles Cultivate Self-energy — calm, clarity, compassion, and confidence It’s like holding an inner family meeting — but this time, nobody gets shut out.Everyone gets a seat at the table. And you get to lead. Why this matters So many of us carry invisible tension: One part striving. One part freezing. One part people-pleasing. One part quietly longing for rest. IFS offers a language for that experience. It helps us turn inward, not to control or “fix” ourselves — but to connect. When you get to know your parts, you can begin to lead them — instead of letting them lead you. Curious to explore more? IFS can help whether your inner parts are loud, quiet, confusing, or beautifully complex. If you’d like to explore this work together, you can read more about my approach here or reach out for a consultation.