As trauma therapists, we’re trained to start with structure — the intake, the assessment, the data that helps us understand our clients’ stories. But sometimes the most therapeutic thing we can do isn’t to keep asking questions, it’s to pause, regulate, and make space for safety. In this post, inspired by a conversation with sexual abuse recovery coach Rachel Grant, I explore how we can hold both structure and humanity in our work.

What if rest wasn’t a reward but a radical act of care?

In this conversation with therapist and Cozy Couch Crew founder Lindsay Boudreau, we explore how chronic illness reshapes boundaries, burnout, and what it means to build a sustainable therapy practice that works with your body, not against it.

Therapist self-disclosure can feel risky. Maybe you’ve shared something in session and immediately wondered if you crossed a line or broke an ethical rule. The truth is, disclosure isn’t about always saying yes or no, it’s about discernment. In this post, I share a simple 3-part framework, examples of different types of disclosure, and how to navigate boundaries with clarity, ethics, and compassion.

We were taught to vanish if we saw a client in public — duck down the aisle, avoid eye contact, disappear. But real life doesn’t fit neatly into those rigid rules. In this post, I share a rainy encounter that reminded me why human-first boundaries matter, and how we can navigate content, disclosure, and life-as-human boundaries in ways that bring clarity, connection, and sustainability to our work as trauma therapists.

Therapy doesn’t exist outside of politics or social realities and neutrality isn’t neutral. As trauma therapists, we’re constantly navigating the messy middle between hiding behind a blank slate and risking imposing our own beliefs. In this blog, I share how we can practice the affirming anchor, a stance that honors our clients’ humanity without co-signing harm, and offer practical skills you can use in your very next session.

Have you ever cried in session and thought, “I just failed as a therapist”? You’re not alone. Many of us were trained to see tears as weakness, but what if our tears are actually a bridge, a way to deepen trust and presence with our clients? I share my personal story of crying with my clients and how it has shaped my career as a trauma therapist.

Therapist spaces are supposed to be safe places where we can show up as our full, human selves. But what happens when those very spaces make us feel small, dismissed, or even attacked? In this post, Jenny shares a recent rupture in a local therapist group, the impact it had on her nervous system, and what it’s taught her about repair, regulation, and building trauma-informed spaces that truly feel safe enough to be seen.

Someone told me I shouldn’t be a therapist because I’m affected by my clients’ trauma. That comment hit a nerve not because I believed it, but because I remember when I did. In this post, I share what it stirred up in me, the wave of support that followed, and why naming our vicarious trauma out loud is a radical act of truth-telling for trauma therapists everywhere.

When a client dies, therapists carry a unique kind of grief, held in silence because of confidentiality and stigma. In this post, I reflect on an interview with grief specialist Khara Croswaite, LPC, about what it means to navigate loss as a therapist. We explore why the anxiety and hypervigilance that follow are normal, how to decide about funerals and rituals, what to do when families reach out, and how community can make healing possible.

So many trauma therapists have been hurt in therapist spaces: judged, dismissed, or made to feel like being human made them less professional. In this reflection, I share what happened when I finally experienced a different kind of room, one where I didn’t have to perform or prove anything to belong.

Feeling numb in session or second-guessing everything you say doesn’t mean you’re a bad therapist, but it might mean you’re burned out. In this post, I share how to recognize the signs of disconnection, release your “professional armor,” and use tools like Watch the Fire to process vicarious trauma, prevent compassion fatigue, and stay human in trauma work.

Burnout doesn’t always look like exhaustion. For trauma therapists, it often starts with quiet disconnection—from your clients, your body, and the part of you that loves this work. This post explores how that happens, why it’s not your fault, and what loosening your armor might unlock.

If you’re bracing before every session like you’re stepping onto a battlefield, you’re not broken — your nervous system is doing its job. In this post, we’ll talk about how vicarious trauma shows up in the body, why white knuckling isn’t the answer, and how a simple somatic shift can help you stay present and grounded with your clients (and yourself).

Most trauma therapists have heard the term vicarious trauma—but far fewer have been introduced to its powerful counterpart: vicarious resilience. In this post, I share the origin story of this concept and explore how we, as trauma therapists, can name, notice, and expand our own experiences of resilience through the work we do. If you’ve ever walked out of a session feeling changed in a good way—this is for you.

What happens when you’re the one grieving — and still holding space for others? In this post, I share what it looked like to keep doing trauma work while grieving the death of my dad in early COVID. Not to offer a blueprint, but to open the conversation. Because our grief shows up in the room too. And that matters.