Short-term therapy usually centers on a specific problem and a specific set of tools, often within a defined number of sessions. That has real value, and for some concerns it's exactly the right choice.

Insight-oriented therapy is built around a different question: not only how to manage what's happening, but why it keeps happening. That makes the work less structured and less linear. There's no worksheet and no session count. Early on it can feel slower than you expect, because we're building a real understanding of your life before deciding what to do about it.

Most people meet weekly, and this kind of work often continues over months or years rather than weeks. Some come for a season and stop once something has shifted. Others stay much longer. If what you need is a brief, focused intervention for a single well-defined issue, I'm glad to help you find someone who is better suited to your immediate needs. 

About Sarah

Most people don't arrive with a diagnosis in mind. They arrive because something has shifted. Sleep is harder, small decisions feel enormous, you're short with the people you love most, or you've stopped looking forward to things you used to enjoy. Sometimes it looks like worry that won't turn off. Sometimes it looks like a flatness you can't explain, especially when nothing in your life is obviously wrong.

Anxiety and depression often show up together, and the distinction matters less at the beginning than you might think. What matters is understanding what you've been carrying and where it came from. That's something we explore together and isn't something you need to have sorted before you reach out.

It's already running things, though rarely in ways that look like your family: how you handle conflict, what you apologize for, the standards you hold yourself to without ever having chosen them.

Talking about your family isn't about assigning blame, and it isn't a verdict on you or on them. It's about noticing patterns you learned so early they stopped looking like patterns. Most of them made sense at the time and some still serve you well. Others are costing you more than you realize. Understanding where something came from doesn't mean you're stuck with it.

Because capability isn't protection. Often it's the opposite.

The people who reach burnout are frequently the ones others rely on most: the ones who absorb the hard conversations, who catch what's falling, who've built a reputation for holding it together. That reputation becomes its own obligation and because you're still performing well, the exhaustion stays invisible, sometimes even to you.

Burnout is rarely solved with better time management. It usually has more to do with how much of yourself you've agreed to spend keeping everything running, and how little of that is going toward what actually matters to you. We'll look at that honestly: what your work is asking of you, what you're willing to give, and what a sustainable version of your career could look like.

It's the particular exhaustion of being needed in two directions at once. You're raising children who still depend on you while your parents are beginning to depend on you too, often at the exact point your career is most demanding.

What makes it heavy isn't only the logistics, though the logistics are real. It's the constant sense of falling short somewhere. Time given to your parents feels like time taken from your kids. Time for yourself feels indefensible. And there's often grief running underneath all of it that no one names, because watching a parent change is its own kind of loss, even while they're still here.

Therapy is one of the few places where you're not the person being depended on. We'll look at what's actually yours to carry and what you've absorbed by default, at the conversations with siblings or aging parents you've been putting off, and at what it would take for your own needs to stop being the first thing cut.

Yes. A significant part of my practice is with women in these seasons, and you won't need to convince me that they're hard.

Hormonal shifts, from fertility treatment through menopause, change mood, sleep, memory, and your sense of who you are. Those changes are real. What tends to make them harder is everything around them: appointments focused on labs and symptoms with little room for how you're actually doing, and the steady implication that this is simply something women manage.

Therapy reaches the part medical care usually can't. What it means to want a child and not know whether that will happen. What it's like to grieve a pregnancy loss that other people treated as a setback. How PMDD can make you feel like two different women inside a single month. Why postpartum can look nothing like what you were promised. What it's like to lose confidence in your own mind during perimenopause and quietly wonder whether you're imagining it.

This work usually runs alongside your medical care rather than in place of it, and I'm glad to coordinate with your other providers when that's useful.

No. And the stages you've probably heard about were never meant to be a checklist.

Grief doesn't move in order, and it doesn't conclude, it changes shape. You might feel steady for weeks and then be undone by something small: a song, a smell, an ordinary Tuesday. You might grieve someone you had a complicated relationship with and feel guilty about the relief mixed in with the loss. You might be grieving something that was never a person at all, a marriage, a pregnancy, a version of your future you had already begun to count on.

Therapy won't move you past your grief, and it isn't meant to. What it offers is a place where you don't have to manage how your grief lands on anyone else. Somewhere to say the parts you've been editing out, to stop performing recovery on someone else's timeline, and to work out how to build a life that holds the loss rather than sets it aside.