I’ve always felt delicate when it comes to friendships — about who I call a friend and who I allow into that space. Over time, I’ve realized the qualities I seek aren’t just preferences, they’re what my nervous system requires to feel safe: honesty, accountability, and a willingness to move through hard things together. Wanting that kind of depth and loyalty isn’t asking for too much — it’s asking for what makes a real connection possible.

Sometimes healing begins in the most uncomfortable places — in that sharp flicker of resistance when someone challenges the way we’ve always seen ourselves or the world. I call it the small glimmer of “fuck you.” It’s not cruelty, but disruption, and often it’s the first crack in the walls we’ve built around our lives.

Being a therapist doesn’t mean I have it all figured out. I walk through the same fire as those I sit with—grief, doubt, fear, love, and resilience. This work doesn’t put me above anyone; it transforms me alongside them.

We all long to be truly seen—not judged, not sized up, but witnessed for who we are. Yet in the busyness of life, it’s easy to feel invisible, unheard, or misunderstood. This reflection explores the universal ache to belong, the ways we hide or perform to protect ourselves, and the healing power of allowing ourselves—and others—to be fully seen.

I’ve come to understand that true gratitude, joy, and beauty are only fully realized when we allow ourselves to crawl into the hidden spaces of grief, to kneel beneath its weight and sit with its darkness. It is in this descent that we learn the paradox of sorrow—that only by facing our deepest losses can we truly understand what it means to live.