What working with me is actually like.

Most therapist websites tell you about their method. Their training. Their credentials. What they believe about growth and change and the human experience (I'm a fan of getting into the latter, TBH, but choosing a different direction here).

I want this page to do something different. I want to try to tell you about how it actually feels to be in the room.

Because that's what you're actually trying to figure out, isn't it? Not whether IFS is a good modality, but whether this specific person can hold what you're carrying.

What happens first

You reach out. You send a message. Maybe a few sentences about what's going on, maybe just "I'd like to book a session." Both are fine.

I write back. Short. Warm. We set up a time.

Then, from the comfort of your home, you show up. The first session isn't an intake form come to life. I'm not going to run through a checklist of symptoms or ask you to rate your anxiety on a scale of one to ten. I'm not going to ask about your childhood right away. I'm not going to explain IFS to you.

We talk. You tell me what brought you here. I listen. Not passively. I'm tracking something. The energy underneath what you're saying. The places where your voice shifts. The thing you mention once and then move past quickly.

At some point, I'll ask periodically to check in with what's going on inside. And then I might say: "What happens when you sit with that for a second?"

It's simple, effective and rich, though not always easy.

That's where it starts.

What happens in your body

I know this might sound weird. But the work asks us to tune into the wisdom of the body, not just the head.

Most people arrive in my office very much in their heads. That's not a criticism, you've been there a long time. It's where you feel safest. Where you can think about feelings without actually having them. I can relate.

Going inward means naming something that's coming up and then following it into your body. It's unknown territory and that can be intimidating at times. So maybe it's a tightness in your chest. A heaviness in your stomach. A flatness or sadness in your face.

You don't have to know what it means. You just have to get out of your own way and stay with it long enough for it to show you.

This is the part that surprises people. They expect therapy to be a conversation between therapist and client. It is, kind of. But the most important thing is what's happening in the conversation between you and yourself.

The moment it shifts

There's a moment in the work that I look for. Not because I'm trying to force it. Because when it happens, I know we're in.

It usually sounds like: "This is so weird, but…" Or a simple "huh, that's different…"

Something moved. Something shifted. A part that's been carrying something for decades just got seen for the first time. Not analyzed. Not explained. Seen.

That's the moment. It's not dramatic. It's quiet. And it changes things in a way that no amount of thinking about it ever could.

I can't promise when it happens. I can't make it happen. But I can tell you it happens. And I can guide you to the place inside where this is possible.

And I can tell you that being there when it does is why I do this work.

What the guide relationship is

I'm not above you. I'm not the expert dispensing wisdom. I'm walking beside you.

Think of it this way. You're going into terrain you've been navigating around for years. You know it's there. You've felt its edges. But you've never been inside it.

I have. Not your specific terrain, terrain like it. I've been in these kinds of places with hundreds of people. I know what it looks like when someone's about to touch something real. I know what it feels like when the ground shifts. I also have personal experience being human and working with my own stuff in this way.

My job is to take my training and experience to help you navigate your unique system. To help you clear the space and maintain the curiosity to move forward. My job is also to be a solid, compassionate presence. To help you hold the tough stuff, and say "keep going" when your instinct is to retreat.

That's what "how much can this person hold?" means. It's the real question behind every therapist search. Not credentials. Not method. Can this person hold what I'm carrying without dropping it?

I can.

How long it takes

I don't have a neat answer for this. Anyone who gives you one is guessing.

Some people come for six months. Some stay for two years. Some come intensely for a while, take a break, and come back when something shifts in their life.

The depth of the work doesn't correlate with time in a simple way. Some of the most important sessions happen in the first month. Some happen after a year. It depends on what's there and how long it's been waiting. It also depends on what you want. Some folks just want someone to work with long term, others don't.

What I can tell you is this: the people who do best in this work are the ones who aren't looking for a quick fix. They're the ones who know, on some level, that going in will take as long as it takes. And they're willing to be there.

Is this you?

You don't have to be sure. You don't have to know whether therapy is the right next step.

But notice what happened while you read this page. Did something land? Did your body respond to any of it?

That noticing is the beginning of the work. Right here. Before you ever "walk into my office".