I’ll miss you in this space

Friends, 

Well, get out the tissues, friend, because this newsletter is a tear-jerker. If you’re like me, you’re an easy crier, and that’s a beautiful thing. It’s just part of our humanbeingness. 

This weekend, I began saying goodbye to my office and private practice in Clackamas, Oregon. 20+ years of memories, clients, families, and a LOT of files. Twenty years of tough conversations and tearful changes. Twenty years with my office mates, especially my friend, Linda, who started our little private practice with me in 2003. That year, I was pregnant with Sophia and finishing my boards to become licensed. My practice is one year older than my daughter. And this year, I’m saying goodbye. Most of you who’ve worked with me know I stopped taking new clients quite a while ago. But, as you may also know, the work I do often involves deep grief and trauma; so many of my clients I’ve known for years and several are still wrapping up their work with me. But by the end of 2023, my private practice will be, in large part, complete.

I wanted to take a moment to list what I’m most grateful for, especially as we enter this week of giving thanks and gratitude. 

• Thank you for trusting me with your stories.
• Thank you for trusting me with your children.
• For trusting me to hear trauma and stress. 
• To the teenagers who I grew up with, and the moms, whose circles I joined, thank you. 
• Thank you to the littles, the toddlers, who played with puppets, sang songs about feelings, and told stories of grief through dollhouses. 
• Thank you to parents who trusted me with deep grief – lost children, lost pregnancies, children with special needs, and children with terminal diagnoses. 
• Thank you to the children who played and laughed through trauma. Who taught me about the important work I still do today.
• Thank you to my clients who shifted to telehealth with me. Ugh!
• To the divorced parents, the single parents, the parents with two mamas or two papas, the foster parents, the grandparents, and the adoptive parents, thank you. 
• Thank you to the adults who trusted me to work through their childhood trauma and heal intergenerational wounds. 
• To dozens of teen-girl groups. Wow. You’re amazing. I still think of the strong women you must have become and know you’re leading the world somewhere. 
• Thank you to the mom’s groups – for your wisdom, community, humor, and voice. 
• And to the dads who healed my heart by showing unconditional love. 
• To my clients who are no longer on this earth, thank you for teaching me about humanity and grief. I miss you.
• Thank you to the children who sat near me, on me, danced, hugged, played, and pretended. 
• And to the ones who held a picture of themselves and said, “that wasn’t ok to do to me” as they grieved for their littlest selves. 
• And to the adults that have protected children, thank you. 
• Thank you to the little girl and little boys in all of you who allowed me to mend hearts and minds.
• To the countless schools, hospitals, physicians, psychiatrists, colleagues, mentors, conference creators, and keynotes, thank you for your collaboration, lessons, and inspiration. 
• Thank you to anyone who has cried in my presence, laughed at themselves, sat with solemnity, or anguished – it has been my deep honor. 

My work is not done. All of these years have prepared me to teach, train, educate, consult, collaborate, author, podcast, and inspire others through stories, inspiration, and strife. Your stories literally live inside me. I carry you with me every day. It is my greatest honor to have been your story-keeper. A safe holding space for life’s lessons. And, my sweet friends, you have taught me more than I could ever express. You have broken open my soul and nuzzled into the softest place in my heart.  

I hope I have shown you the reverence you deserve. The patience. The presence. 

On this week of thanksgiving, I am thankful for growing up and into the psychologist, I am today because of you. 

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