Tell Me Why You're Here

Lorna returns eager to talk, but once we're together, she finds herself holding back, afraid I'll judge her for needing help. As we explore her fear of relying on others, she unexpectedly finds herself reliving a painful experience from her past. But this time, something is different: she discovers that she can return from that frightening place to the safety of our conversation, where what once could only be relived can begin to be remembered, understood, and mourned.

Lorna returns feeling better after our first two sessions—and wondering whether she needs more. But as we talk, it becomes clear that she wants to keep seeing me, even as she feels embarrassed about needing someone to talk to. We begin to discover how readily Lorna finds fault with herself, even for things beyond her control. And when a tragedy from her childhood comes to light, we begin to wonder whether blaming herself might actually protect her from something even more frightening.

Lorna returns, struggling with the belief that she's to blame for how her marriage fell apart. We begin to discover how she can become trapped in the stories her mind tells her, as though they are not just thoughts but reality. As we talk, she notices something curious: when I share my thoughts about her life experiences, she has the liberating discovery that she, too, can step back and think about her thoughts, opening up new ways of understanding her life.

Lorna is headed for divorce and trying to make sense of what’s happening. As we talk about her volatile marriage and a household in turmoil, she says she feels numb—but then why do I feel so much? As I struggle to find my way through our halting conversation, I begin to wonder whether what we're experiencing together might tell us more than either of us can yet put into words.

As she prepares to leave therapy, Ana has a dream that takes us into uncharted waters. We dive into her conflicting wishes to be admired for her self-sufficiency and to have someone come to her rescue. And when I turn up in not one but two of her dreams, we explore what this might tell us about her readiness to welcome me aboard as her co-captain.

Ana returns with surprising news: things with Jason are going so well that she thinks she's ready to end therapy. But as we explore her reasons for leaving, her reasons for wanting to stay begin to emerge, along with her ambivalence about disappointing me. By the end of our session, saying goodbye turns out to be more complicated than either of us expected.

Ana returns determined to make sure I understand why she has to do everything herself. But when that same struggle emerges between us, we discover that being seen as needing no one can leave Ana feeling strangely dismissed. As she begins to let me see the part of her that does want help, we wonder who she might be if she didn't always have to have the answers.

Ana comes to therapy with her marriage in crisis—but is convinced it's her husband, not her, who needs to be here. He's withdrawn, won't step up, and leaves Ana feeling responsible for everything. As we explore why she is, in fact, here with me, we begin to discover how much Ana both resents and relies on being the one who can handle everything.

Jane returns…five months after our first meeting. She’s dating a man named Ted, but she’s not sure she wants to keep seeing him. “What do I do about Ted?” soon evolves into “How do I know what I want?” When the same uncertainty begins to emerge between Jane and me, we start to discover why being noticed, remembered, and known can feel both good and deeply uncomfortable.

Jane, a 40-year-old stage manager, comes to therapy for the first time after a series of losses leaves her feeling lonely and unsure of where her life is going. As we talk about her father’s death, her career, and her longing for a relationship, we begin to discover how little room she has made for her own desires. And when the conversation turns to dating and sex, Jane takes a risk that gives us a glimpse of what may be keeping her one foot in and one foot out.