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Why Does Everybody Hate Me? is a compassionate, validating, and deeply human exploration of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) by ADHD advocate Alex Partridge. Through personal stories, humor, and accessible psychoeducation, Partridge gives language to an experience many neurodivergent people live with silently—often wrapped in shame, confusion, and self‑doubt.

As a therapist, I was struck by how precisely this book reflects what I see clinically.
As someone living with RSD myself, it brought up a mix of anger, grief, relief, and recognition—sometimes all on the same page.

⚠️ Movie Spoiler Alert

This article contains spoilers for Project Hail Mary (2026) and Cast Away (2000).

Introduction: Two Very Different Stories, One Shared Human Need

Project Hail Mary and Cast Away take place in drastically different environments. One is set light‑years from Earth aboard a spacecraft. The other unfolds on a deserted island in the Pacific Ocean. But psychologically and emotionally, these films are telling the same story:

What happens to the human mind when connection is removed—and what changes when it returns?

A few weeks ago, a client said something that lingered with me long after our session ended:

“I’m not just grieving my marriage. I’m grieving how differently people are treating me now.”

They asked if I’d write about divorce—not the logistics, not the legal pieces, but the social and relational fallout. The judgment. The awkwardness. The friendships that suddenly feel fragile. The family members who ask too many questions. The people who quietly disappear.

In his newest book, Hard Feelings: Finding the Wisdom in Our Darkest Emotions, psychotherapist and author Daniel Smith invites us to reconsider something most of us have spent years trying to avoid: our so‑called negative emotions. Rather than treating anger, shame, envy, regret, jealousy, annoyance, boredom, or despair as problems to eliminate, Smith makes a compelling and deeply humane case that these emotions serve an essential purpose—if we are willing to listen to what they are trying to tell us.

In her newest book, The Balancing Act: Creating Healthy Dependency and Connection Without Losing Yourself, licensed therapist and bestselling author Nedra Glover Tawwab explores a question many people quietly wrestle with: How do we stay connected to others without losing ourselves in the process?

Have you ever noticed that things you used to enjoy just don’t feel the same anymore? Maybe your favorite foods taste flat, time with friends feels draining instead of fulfilling, or activities that once brought excitement now feel empty. If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone—and there’s a name for this experience: anhedonia.

Therapy is often described as a safe space—and at its best, it truly is.
But the reality is this: not all therapy is good therapy, and not every licensed therapist practices ethically, attentively, or skillfully.

As a therapist myself, I’ve sat with many clients who didn’t just struggle before therapy—but were harmed by it.

Many of them hesitated to say anything because of thoughts like:

• “Maybe this is just my discomfort.”

• “They’re the professional—this must be normal.”

• “I don’t want to be difficult or dramatic.”

When a woman gets divorced, something predictable—and exhausting—often happens.

Before the paperwork is finalized, before the dust settles, sometimes before the ink is even dry, the messages start coming in. “Just checking on you.” “You deserve to be treated better.” “I’ve always admired you.”

What follows is rarely subtle. Support quickly morphs into flirtation. Concern turns into pursuit.

As both a therapist and a woman, I’ve seen this pattern repeatedly. It’s common, it’s harmful, and it deserves a name.

There is something deeply humbling about returning from vacation and realizing three things at once:

1. You are very glad you went.

2. You miss it already.

3. Your legs are not convinced you are back on land.

Stepping off the cruise ship, I genuinely wondered if I had forgotten how to walk. My body swayed like it was still negotiating waves, and for a brief moment I questioned whether balance—literal and metaphorical—was optional. It turns out, both take a minute to come back.

That felt like an appropriate metaphor for this season of life.

Most couples don’t drift apart because they don’t care.
They drift apart because life gets loud.

Between work, kids, stress, trauma histories, neurodivergent brains, grief, and exhaustion, relationships often become reactive instead of intentional. Conversations turn into arguments. Important topics get avoided. And before you know it, connection gets replaced by distance.

Spring break is supposed to feel like relief.

A pause.
A reset.
A chance to rest, connect, and maybe even enjoy ourselves.

And yet, for many people—especially parents, caregivers, and neurodivergent adults—spring break can feel anything but restful. In my therapy office, I hear it every year: “I thought I’d feel better… but I’m more exhausted than before.”

As both a therapist and someone with ADHD, I want to say this clearly:

If spring break doesn’t feel like a break for you, you’re not doing it wrong.

Have you ever watched a TV show or movie that affected you more deeply than you expected?

I’ve had that experience more times than I can count—Heated Rivalry, Heartstopper, and This Is Us, just to name a few. What starts as “just a show” somehow turns into tears on the couch, a lump in your throat, or a quiet realization that stays with you long after the credits roll.

I’ve written previously about why friendship matters and why it’s often challenging, especially in adulthood. Research consistently shows that strong social connection is one of the greatest predictors of mental and physical health across the lifespan (Harvard Study of Adult Development). And yet, knowing friendship is important doesn’t always make it easy to build.

If you’re parenting an anxious child, you’ve probably asked yourself some version of this question:
Am I helping… or am I making it worse?

I’ve asked it, too—often in the middle of the night, sitting beside my anxious child as worries spill out. School. Friendships. Separation. Sleep. All the endless “what ifs.” Every instinct in me wants to make the fear disappear. I reassure. I explain. I adjust plans. I tiptoe. I problem‑solve.

We tend to understand grief through a familiar script. There is a death, a funeral, a season of mourning, and a community that gathers with casseroles and condolences. It is a loss with a clear beginning, middle, and end—a defined “before” and “after.”

But what happens when what you lose never technically dies?

What do you do with the hollow ache of a loss that has no finish line, no ceremony, and no socially recognized place to land?

Over the course of my career as a private investigator I frequently worked for insurance companies investigating worker’s compensation or disability fraud. I was asked to testify in court but I never had to as the thought of my presence had the defendant in many cases accepting an offer from the insurance company which resulted in the matter being settled. My report did the work for me. I was all set to testify and ready to go.

Trigger Warning:
This article discusses child sexual abuse, institutional betrayal, and abuse within religious contexts. While no graphic details are included, the subject matter may be emotionally activating for survivors of abuse, religious trauma, or spiritual abuse. Readers are encouraged to proceed at their own pace, take breaks as needed, and seek support if distress arises.

If you or someone you know has experienced sexual abuse, confidential support is available through RAINN (800‑656‑HOPE) or local crisis resources.

Self‑care.
If you’re anything like me, you probably sighed—or rolled your eyes—a little when you read that word.

Over the past few years, self‑care has taken on a life of its own. Social media is flooded with perfectly curated images and ads promoting the latest self‑care trend. Most of them require extra time, extra money, or both—and let’s be honest, who has an abundance of either these days?

If you've read my previous post about Play Therapy, you may still have questions. I support you! It’s completely natural to have questions before your child begins play therapy. Parents often wonder what to expect, how their child will respond, and how they themselves will be involved.

Emily and Amelia Nagoski’s Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle is one of the most clinically useful, validating, and culturally honest books I’ve encountered on chronic stress and emotional exhaustion. As a therapist who works daily with clients who feel depleted, overwhelmed, and quietly ashamed for “not handling life better,” I consider this book essential reading—for clients and clinicians alike.

In recent years, one phrase has taken center stage in conversations about relationships: “If they wanted to, they would.”

At face value, it sounds empowering. It validates hurt, calls out inconsistency, and pushes back against chronic disappointment. For many people—especially those who have overextended themselves in relationships—it feels like permission to stop making excuses for others.

We’re excited to share some great news with our Summit community — Claire Leech, LPC, is officially joining Summit Family Therapy as a full-time therapist!  She has passed her LCPC exam and will have her independent license in a few weeks. 

Claire has already been a wonderful part of our clinical community, and we’re thrilled to have her joining us in a full-time role. She brings a calm, compassionate presence and a genuine passion for helping people feel supported, understood, and empowered in their healing journey.

Author’s Note / Trigger Warning:
The following article discusses neurodegenerative disease, cognitive decline, hallucinations, and loss of independence. This content may be difficult for some readers.

Disease is often an unseen cruelty. Cancer takes bodies. Influenza can take lives. Dementia, however, takes something different. It slowly erodes memory, identity, and recognition. Loved ones fade into unfamiliar versions of themselves. Confusion, agitation, and sorrow become constant companions—not only for the person affected, but for those who love them.

Hyperfixation is a fairly common experience for those of us with ADHD, and it can also show up for people with autism—especially when ADHD and autism overlap. It usually starts innocently enough. We find something new and interesting, our brain releases dopamine, and suddenly that thing feels exciting, energizing, and alive.

One of the most common questions I hear in my work sounds like this:

I think I’ve forgiven them… but does that mean I have to let them back into my life?

That question usually comes with a tight chest, a long pause, and a lot of fear underneath it.

And the answer is still: no.

We are excited to welcome Greta Long, MA, LPC to the Summit Family Therapy team. Greta brings a warm, grounded presence and a thoughtful, relationship-centered approach to counseling that aligns deeply with our values of connection, collaboration, and meaningful change.

In recent years, the term codependency has made its way into everyday language. It’s often used casually to describe “needy” behavior or intense attachment, but clinically, codependency is a complex relational pattern rooted in early experiences, trauma, and fears of abandonment. At the same time, humans are wired for healthy dependency — the mutual reliance that strengthens secure relationships.

Trauma bonding is a term that has gained widespread attention in recent years, yet it is often misunderstood or misused in everyday language. In clinical and research contexts, a trauma bond has a specific meaning rooted in patterns of abuse, coercive control, and intermittent reinforcement. This article clarifies what a trauma bond truly is, what it is not, and why the distinction matters.

The public release of the Epstein files has reopened a painful conversation about sexual exploitation, systemic failure, and the countless survivors who have endured these harms in silence. But alongside public outrage and political scrutiny, there’s a quieter, more intimate story unfolding—one happening inside the nervous systems of trauma survivors who are reliving echoes of their own experiences.