Author: Stephanie
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A Scuba Diving Experience That Taught Me About Anxiety, Trauma, and the Nervous System
On my recent vacation, I tried scuba diving for the first time, and threw up. A lot. And it wasn’t the kind of seasickness you shake off with a ginger chew and a nap. It was a full-body, brain-shut-down, stomach-overboard kind of reaction that left me wondering, “What is going on with me?” My Body…
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An Open Letter to Teachers in Limbo
If you’re a teacher right now, sitting in the uncertainty of the strike, waiting to see what happens next, I want you to hear this:You are allowed to rest. You’ve been carrying more than anyone should have to.You’ve been showing up for your students, managing complex needs with minimal support, and now, even as you…
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“Who Broke Mommy?”: The Neurobiology of Burnout and Why the Teacher Strike Hits So Deep
When I scroll through social media and see all these posts about the teachers on strike, my heart aches. Not just because I understand their fight, but because I’ve lived it. What they are advocating for? Smaller class sizes, more support, better resources. Those were the same things I desperately needed years ago when I…
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September’s Lessons: On Transition, Grief, and Growth
September always feels like a month of change. The mornings get cooler, the leaves start to turn, and everything seems to shift at once. This year has been no different for me. It’s been full of transitions that have stretched me, scared me, and also opened up new space to grow. The Biz-Vorce One of…
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“Shouldn’t I Be Able to Handle This?”: When You Know What You’re Doing and Its Still Hard
Before I even became a therapist, I was suspicious my youngest had ADHD. My son has always been a mover, a climber, a big-feelings kind of kid who talks to strangers like they’re his future besties. He’s sweet and funny and obsessed with cats (despite being allergic to them). And I love everything about who…
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Twenty Years Without My Father
Today marks 20 years since my father died. It was a beautiful spring day. A sudden reprieve from the symptoms of winter. Like many others, my father took the opportunity to take out his motorcycle and play a little, show off a little, live a little. But it killed him. He was 38 years old.…