Trauma and Neglect

The blog includes articles I have written over the last few years, as well as a weekly post where I share what’s on my mind, even if it’s an undeveloped idea that popped up when I was stirring a vat of cheese!

Jealousy: Siblings, Transitions, Repair

It is a new year, and I thought it would be fitting to start us off with a “feel-good” blog. You might ask “feel good? Judging from the title, I don’t think

Survival of the Friendliest: Generations, Hope, Together

When I heard that my tech team is out for a hard-earned vacation next week, I realized I would not be able to send out a video. I thought about what I

Transformations: Loss, Hope, Succeed at Last

One of my few childhood memories is from when I was probably not quite three years old. We were on some sort of family outing, walking through a park in New York.

Winds and Change: Sound, Tempest, Hope

Growing up I wondered if everyone has a constant musical backbeat playing in their heads like I do, a DJ who never takes a day off, always keeping me company. I rather

Losing and Winning: Trauma, Flight, Mysteries

I rarely work with eating disorders, if I can help it. My own history was so painful, shame-ridden and protracted, that I fear I will not have the patience or sufficient compassion

Zero to 70: Oxford, Time, Justice

When I asked one of my esteemed colleagues at the Transform Trauma Oxford 2025 Conference if he would be in the Bay Area (where I live) any time soon, he said he

Stalled but Not “Stuck” – Slogging, Baking and Care

Certain words I have torn out of my personal lexicon and just tossed. One of those is “stuck.” It is not allowed in my office either. True, sometimes progress is so slow

Voice and Spine: Trees, Feet, Upward

Way back when I was in graduate school, which seems like eons ago (it was the middle 1980’s), I studied the work of an attachment researcher named Stephen Johnson. That is Stephen

To Be Or…Invisible, Parts, Integration

When I was in ninth grade, my English class planned a field trip to the theater to see Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. Strange how all this detail has endured in memory.

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