essence

Dear Reader,

There are seasons when life asks for so many versions of us that it becomes hard to feel the throughline. We move from role to role, answer to what is needed, and carry forward without pausing long enough to remember who is doing the carrying. Essence is the word we use for what remains when the dust settles. The part of us that stays recognizable even as everything around us shifts.

So then, essence shows up in the way we care, in the choices we repeat when no one is watching, and in the values we return to after the distraction fades. You can sense it in the tone of your attention when you are fully present with someone, or in the relief you feel when an action matches what you believe.

The more we live from this place, the less we need to convince anyone of who we are. Our actions begin to do that speaking. We say ‘yes’ where it is real to do so, and we let ‘no’ be an act of care rather than defense. We offer presence that feels like itself in every room, even if the room changes us.

When life feels scattered, remembering our own essence gives us a place to stand. It does not solve the day, but it keeps the day from deciding us. And with time, moving toward that steadier center becomes less of an effort and more a way of being that we can recognize, return to, and trust.

Yours in the journey,

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the space between thoughts

Dear Reader,

There is more than one way to look inward. 

Often, introspection is treated like a mental exercise meant to sort through feelings, locate causes, and arrive at conclusions. That kind of thinking can have its place. But there is another way to understand introspection, one that begins with a willingness to make a little room inside the moment.

If you pay attention, there are brief intervals when the mind pauses between one idea and the next, and in that pause, something subtle can be felt beneath the noise of analysis. Experience itself becomes visible again. The breath moving in and out, the weight of the body in the chair, the texture of your own attention. Nothing needs to be solved there, yet a kind of slow and deliberate recognition begins to take shape simply because you have allowed it space to exist.

This way of being introspective is simply another way to listen inward. One that invites patience rather than certainty. Some days it will feel impossible to access, especially when the mind insists on solving. Other days, it may be the only approach that feels honest which may be a reminder that not every truth is revealed through thinking.

To practice this kind of introspection, you might begin with the smallest gestures. Feel a full breath before responding to what’s in front of you. Pause at the end of a conversation and notice what remains unspoken. Sit quietly and listen. Each time you give yourself that space, you allow awareness to gather at its own pace.

Yours in the journey,

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the view from here

Dear Reader,

Sometimes it takes time to see something clearly. We look back on an experience that once felt certain, and it no longer carries the same weight. What seemed clear in the moment has changed shape. What we thought we understood about ourselves, or someone else, begins to look different from a distance.

Perspective rarely arrives when we ask for it. It tends to appear quietly, after we’ve stopped trying to make sense of everything, when we’re simply living what’s in front of us. Only later do we notice that our view has widened, that we can hold more of the picture than before.

In the therapy room, this shift often happens in real time. Someone begins by describing something that feels stuck. Then, as they keep speaking, another understanding begins to form. Often it isn’t a “solution”. It’s more like realizing that what they believed was the whole story was only part of it.

Finding perspective is about allowing the story to expand until it can hold more than one truth at once. The hurt may still exist, but so does the learning. The loss still matters, but so does the way we keep showing up.

Sometimes we can’t see what something means until we’ve walked far enough to turn around. Other times, it takes slowing down within the moment itself to glimpse a different angle. Either way, perspective isn’t given; it’s gathered slowly, with attention, as we learn to keep looking until something shifts.

Yours in the journey,

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becoming what we practice

Dear Reader,

For many people, the idea of a personal mantra can feel uncomfortable. It can sound like pretending to believe something you don’t. When life feels uncertain or discouraging, saying I am enough or I trust myself might ring hollow. That resistance makes sense. We can’t talk ourselves into a truth we don’t yet feel.

But in therapy, we often remind people that belief doesn’t have to come first. The way we speak to ourselves shapes the pathways the mind takes most often. A thought repeated with intention begins to create new associations, even before we fully believe it. Over time, those repetitions can help loosen the grip of older, more critical narratives. This isn’t wishful thinking; it’s how the brain learns.

Psychological research supports this. Studies in cognitive-behavioral therapy and self-affirmation theory show that consistent, self-directed language changes emotional processing and self-perception over time. Our inner dialogue influences what we notice, how we interpret experiences, and how quickly we recover from setbacks. The words we practice become the scaffolding for the beliefs we grow into.

So when you are intentional about choosing a mantra, it doesn’t need to feel entirely true yet. It only needs to feel possible. Think of it as a bridge between where you are and where you hope to stand. A phrase like I’m learning to trust myself or I’m allowed to rest honors both your current reality and your capacity for change.

Yours in the journey,

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living light

Dear Reader,

After long seasons of effort, of reflection, growth, and holding so much, it can be easy to forget that life is also meant to be light. Living light does not mean living careless or detached, but rather open. There is a kind of lightness that comes when we stop carrying everything as if it were ours to solve.

We spend so much time trying to get it right. We analyze, improve, repair, and plan. But the mind cannot hold that posture forever. At some point, we need to step back and let life breathe again. To laugh at something small. To move our bodies without purpose. To allow joy to arrive uninvited.

Living light means remembering that depth and ease can coexist. It is the ability to hold seriousness when it is called for, and then set it down. It’s knowing when to let conversation drift into laughter, when to let quiet stand on its own, and how to move through a day without measuring its worth by what got accomplished.

Sometimes, living light begins as an act of release. 

Releasing the thought that every moment needs to be meaningful.
Releasing the habit of preparing for disappointment before joy has a chance to land.
Releasing the belief that carrying everything heavily is the same as caring deeply.

I want you to know dear reader, this reflection today was for me. I hope you find value here too,

Yours in the journey,

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