Many women I work with come to therapy hoping for a clear roadmap—do A, B, and C, and you'll arrive at "healed." But sexual trauma doesn't work that way. And honestly? Neither does being human. The healing journey is messy, circular, and beautifully complex. It includes good days and hard days, breakthroughs and breakdowns, moments of clarity and moments of confusion.

If your healing feels more like a spiral than a straight path, you're right on track.

Trying to keep it all together and maintain some kind of order in the chaos can be like trying to herd cats in the rain but it can also feel like the only way to keep things from falling apart. Instead of peace, perfectionism/control usually creates anxiety, overwhelm, and a stubborn belief that you must do everything flawlessly to be a “good” mom.

Welcome to the world of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)—a condition that impacts millions of people every year, often with the changing of the seasons. While it might be tempting to brush off your winter blues as just "a part of winter," SAD is a real and recognized mental health condition. And trust me, there’s no shame in feeling a little “off” when the days get shorter. Your brain is simply reacting to the environmental changes.

As a person in the medical field - you’re juggling long shifts, emotional overload, and vicarious trauma - the impact of caring for others. All of that together and your insides are screaming:  "We are not okay!" while you’re smiling on the outside. 

If you’re stuck in people-pleasing mode and running on fumes, it's time to treat boundary setting as the next big act of self-care. Spoiler alert: you can learn how to do it—without ghosting your group chat or moving to a yurt.

But here's the kicker: sleep and mental health are deeply intertwined. That groggy fog you feel in the morning? Not just about being tired. It's your brain waving a white flag, saying, “We need to talk.”

If you're feeling overwhelmed by the back-to-school rush or the emotional weight of this seasonal shift, you're not alone—and you don’t have to navigate it by yourself.

They needed something I couldn’t provide. I’ve let go of the belief that their failure meant I was failing. Afterall, I couldn’t force them to live no matter how loud I shouted at them to shape up and grow straight!

Why is hard to do the thing we want to do or the thing we know would help us feel better? Maybe the little voice in our head isn’t so nice and tells us we’re going to fail.