Essays + Published Works
Writing has always been therapeutic for me. A way to connect, heal, and bring light to the darkest parts of our personal stories. It is also a great way to get to know me a little better as a person. In the past I’ve written about body image, motherhood, grief, caring for aging parents, and of course how all of the above impacts mental health.
So often, I’ve heard that people feel like they don’t really know their therapist. These boundaries serve a purpose but can also become a roadblock. It’s human to yearn for connection and understanding, especially in session. I believe that this aspect of my field is changing as more clinicians disclose their lived experiences and embrace the desire for relatability. I want to be a part of this shift and I hope my writing connects with you.
Between sessions I am currently working on a collection of essays on weight, mothering, and the weight of mothering. To be notified whenever I publish a new piece you can subscribe here.
Ending the War With My Body
When surrender means you’ve won
It’s been two years since my last doctor’s appointment. At that visit our discussion was shrouded by social distancing and early motherhood.
The Adjusted Age of Parenthood in a Pandemic
ON LOVING YOUR CHILD AND LOSING YOURSELF
In March 2020, my son was born three weeks early in a Brooklyn hospital just as news reporters started to flood New Rochelle and the CDC debated the merits of masking.
When Grief Takes the Long Route
There’s more than one way to lose someone
My parents aren’t doing well. They are flies on fly tape, struggling to break free of poor health and old age but just becoming weaker and more exhausted with each fight.
The Internet That Once Was
A childhood forged in the wilds of the internet
I didn’t expect to feel old on the internet this quickly. I thought that as the human lifespan expanded that we would feel younger for longer instead of becoming older earlier.
Why I Watch The Bachelor For My Mental Health
Turns out a weekly dose of sequined dresses reduces my anxiety
Every Monday night I race to the finish line. It’s 7:45 and my toddler is pleading for another book. I negotiate him down to a pithy one where the entire plot is to count dogs.
READY FOR THE NEXT STEP?