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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.

Over the past two weeks, our workplace community has been touched by a profound wave of loss. Three of our employees have experienced the passing of close loved ones, and within my own extended family, we are mourning the loss of a child to cancer. These moments remind us of the fragility of life, the depth of human love, and the universal experience of grief that connects us all.

We are delighted to share an exciting milestone in the growth of our practice. Kate Mills, MA, LCPC has been promoted to Clinical Director of Family Services at Summit Family Therapy!

For years, Kate has been a cornerstone of what makes Summit special. Her dedication, compassion, and professionalism have profoundly shaped the experiences of our clients and our team. This promotion reflects not only her clinical expertise, but also the exceptional heart, leadership, and integrity she brings into every room she enters.

Most of us agree that friendship is important, yet many people quietly struggle to create and maintain meaningful relationships. As a therapist, I hear this often:

• “I’m terrible at making friends.”

• “Everyone else seems to have a social circle. What's wrong with me?”

• “My friendships drift as life gets busier.”

• “I don’t even know where to start.”

Most people are familiar with the classic trauma responses: fight, flight, and freeze. But trauma research has increasingly recognized a fourth response that often hides in plain sight: fawning.

“Suck it up, butter cup.”

“Rub some dirt in it.”

Most men have heard some version of these lines, little slogans wrapped in toughness and handed to boys long before they ever understand what they mean. Years ago, someone said I was “the least masculine employee.” To this day, I still don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

Years ago, I stood in a store holding a sweater I didn’t need but really liked.

It wasn’t expensive. It wouldn’t change my life. And yet, I stood there debating it like I was deciding whether to quit my job.

At the same time, I was doing the opposite in other areas of my life. I tended to make impulsive, rushed, high-stakes decisions with far less thought than they deserved.

Grief is one of the most painful and disorienting human experiences. Many describe it as feeling as though a part of themselves has been cut away—an absence so profound it is felt not only emotionally, but physically. In The Grieving Brain, psychologist and neuroscientist Mary‑Frances O’Connor, PhD, offers compelling scientific and clinical insight into why grief feels the way it does and how loss fundamentally reshapes the body and brain.

Have you ever heard someone say, “You’re gaslighting me!” during an argument? These days, the term pops up everywhere—social media, TV shows, even casual conversations. But here’s the thing: gaslighting isn’t just a trendy buzzword. It’s a serious form of psychological manipulation, and when we throw it around carelessly, we risk losing sight of what it really means.