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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 so!” Jealousy is one of those unsavory emotions, that feel awful from either direction. It is miserable to feel jealous, and often the […]

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 might do instead. One thing I was reminded of by my husband, who works with a largely unhoused population, is how rough it

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. We reached a spot where the path led to a green area. I took a closer look at what had initially appeared to

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 enjoy the accompaniment, and rarely have a complaint about the choice of songs. Interestingly, the sense of hearing is one of the earliest

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 to bear witness to its agonies. In my long life, I have seen progression in the larger world of food fads, diet and

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 goes there quite often, to go to Laguna Seca, the local racetrack. His son is a race car driver. I was duly intrigued.

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 M. Johnson, apparently there are many Stephen Johnsons. He was also one of an early wave of somatic therapists that began to appear

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. My teacher was a grumpy, curmudgeonly guy with a “toothbrush” or Charlie Chaplin style mustache. ChatGPT says he passed away in 2013, but

 I remember the first time I went to New Orleans. It was probably 2000 or thereabouts, for a sex therapy conference. What a perfect venue for a crowd of sex therapists to get together. You know what they say about sex therapists: “people become sex therapists because they already think about sex 24 hours a