The Therapy Chair

Maybe it’s your first session.
Maybe it’s your fifth time trying again.

The room is calm.
Quiet.
Safe—but not necessarily comfortable.
Because stillness, for a nervous system wired for survival, can feel like its own kind of alarm.

You smile.
You nod.
Maybe you even say, “I’ve been okay.”

But beneath the surface?
Your body is already halfway out the door.

Flight risk.

Not because you’re flaky.
Not because you’re not committed.
But because connection—real connection—can feel dangerous
when your story has taught you that closeness isn’t always safe.

A Trauma-Informed Space Expects This.

This room is built with that knowing.

I don’t flinch at resistance.
I welcome it.
Because resistance isn’t defiance—it’s protection. And it’s sacred.

We ask the nervous system:
What are you still holding onto?
What would help you stay for just a little longer?

You don’t have to have the words.

If your voice gets stuck, if the tears or tension come first—come as you are.

Kick off your shoes, breathe for a moment, and settle in.

We don’t have to dive into the deep end.
We don’t have to talk about everything all at once.

Here, you’re not a diagnosis.
You’re not a file.
You’re not “too much.”

You’re a survivor.

You’re a human doing the hard work of healing in a world that hasn’t always felt safe.
And even sitting in this chair—right now—is brave.

This Is Not a Dead End. Only a Detour.

Maybe therapy hasn’t “worked” before.
Maybe it’s felt like too much, too soon—or too little, too late.
Maybe you’ve started and stopped more times than you can count.

That’s not failure.
That’s the impact of trauma.
And it makes sense.

This isn’t about fixing you.
It’s about walking with you—through the messy middle—until you can start to imagine something softer. Something safer. Something more whole.

🌱 You don’t have to be ready.
You just have to arrive.

Show up for the first five sessions. That’s it.
Let’s see what’s possible from there.