listening, reflecting, returning

Writing is where I listen in another way — not bound by the hour or the room. It’s where what has been known privately begins to find form and flow.

My words grow from years of sitting with others and with myself — in the dance of knowing and not knowing, watching what opens when we stop trying to fix and begin to feel. They come from the same place the analytic work begins: curiosity, containment, and the wish to know what lives beneath the surface.

I write to follow what wants to be known — to track the unwinding, the movement from defense to aliveness, from protection to tenderness. The page becomes another kind of holding environment, one that invites reflection, honesty, and return.

Sometimes what rises are fragments of knowing—moments of recognition, mirrors that find us when we are ready to see. It’s the moment we stop running alongside the river; when thinking our way through no longer works, and we are finally brave enough to let the river and our experience carry us.

My writing is informed by my years in clinical practice, and it’s also about what connects us — the shared rhythm of longing, loss, and becoming. You can read along as I share new pieces on Substack and smaller reflections on Instagram.