questions that Matter
Welcome to Made and Matter’s blog.
The Question That Lives in Every Relationship
Seeing the deeper question hidden underneath.
In the game Heads Up, a word is stuck to your forehead. You can't see it. Everyone else can. You spend the whole round watching people's faces, trying to guess what's written on you.
Most days, I'm playing that game without realizing it.
"Did you fill the girls' water bottles before camp this morning?"
I can feel my wife's simple yes-or-no question hit my body like I've stepped on a piece of glass. Her anxiety about the day ahead is real, but she isn't asking me to fix it. Here, she's just asking, “Did you do this?”
It's an honest question. Yet, in it, I hear her question and attach more to it than is there. In response I find myself wanting to retreat into defensiveness, or offer a passive-aggressive reply like, "Of course I did."
Whether I realize it or not, I'm always asking some version of the same questions: “Are you happy with me?” “Did I do enough?”
Or, underneath it all: “Am I really loved?”
These questions are so childlike, so vulnerable, that my adult brain and my pride would rather not admit they're lurking behind nearly every interaction.
It shows up in the silence of a text with the lingering "..." My internal narrator starts writing a story: “Did I say something wrong?”
It shows up in my parenting, when I offer help and my daughter pushes back with "I can do it myself" — I hear her independence as a vote of no confidence in me.
When I'm not in a healthy place, I can project it onto almost anything. Even a side-glance from my dog, Charlie, can feel like judgment.
The Question Beneath the Question
Author and therapist Dr. Dan Allender writes that children enter the world asking two foundational questions:
“Am I loved?” and “Can I get my own way?”
We learn to hide them beneath adult responsibilities and busyness, but we never stop asking them.
The first reveals our vulnerability. The second is a strategy for managing it — I want to know I'm loved, but I also want to control how you answer that.
That strategy always fails eventually, since none of us can perform well enough, consistently enough, to guarantee the answer we're after. And when the anxiety and shame that follow become unmanageable, a lot of us turn to something to numb it — screens, food, a substance.
We can't answer this question by ourselves. In the movie, Cast Away, Tom Hanks' character is stranded completely alone — and he still paints a face on a volleyball so he has someone to ask, “Who am I?”
We were made to hear the answer inside the context of a personal intimate relationship, not in isolation.
Taking Responsibility for the Question
The hope isn't to eliminate the question, but to recognize when we're asking it and take responsibility for how we carry it into our relationships.
It starts by slowing down. As Viktor Frankl stated, “Between stimulus and response there is a space, and in that space is our freedom to choose.”
When a simple question feels like stepping on glass, I can pause before defending myself and ask:
“What am I afraid this means about me? What is actually being asked of me right now?”
That pause doesn't make the old fear disappear. But it creates enough room for agency. I can feel the younger, more vulnerable question without requiring the other person to answer it for me on the spot.
The next step is to take our question to the source of truth. Author Jamie Winship describes false identity as a conclusion about ourselves that grows out of fear and feels true: “I am disappointing. I only matter when I perform.”
Instead of letting that conclusion run the interaction, I can bring it to God honestly: “What is actually true? Who do you say that I am?”
Scripture doesn't open by commanding us to manufacture love. "We love because He first loved us" (1 John 4:19). Love comes first. We act from having been loved, rather than performing in order to become lovable.
But knowing that is different from learning to receive it.
Learning to Rest in the Answer
A few weeks ago, I told my therapist I was tired of efforting — tired of trying to extract enough insight from every session to become a healthier, more lovable person.
Instead of pushing me toward some accomplishment, she invited me to rest. She actually suggested I take a nap.
It was crazy uncomfortable — producing nothing, fixing nothing, proving nothing. But as I allowed myself to lay there, I practiced believing I could be cared for simply because I was there. And as I let myself rest, I started remembering childhood moments when I'd experienced that same kind of love.
No other person can permanently settle the question of our worth, but we don't have to answer it alone either. The feeling that asks Am I loved? is real, and it deserves to be brought somewhere honest rather than silenced.
If we are willing to be still and bring that question to the source of love, God, we can let His answer be the truth we relate to the feeling from — not something we wait to feel before we'll believe it — and let that truth settle more fully in relationships where we are known, forgiven, and invited to rest.
The Difference It Makes
When I’m more grounded in that truth, and my wife asks about the water bottles, I can answer the question she actually asked.
"Yes, I did."
Or, “No, I forgot. I'm sorry."
Her question doesn't have to become a verdict on whether I'm loved. It can just be a question about water bottles.
4 Common OCD Misconceptions
Deepening our understanding of what OCD is and is not.
We’ve all heard them before, perhaps even said them ourselves…
“I’m so OCD about my kitchen.”
“She’s super OCD when it comes to cleaning.”
“I get really OCD about ______.”
These casual comments reflect our culture’s misperceptions about the nature and severity of suffering found in Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD).
Despite the recent increase in diagnostics and treatment protocol, OCD continues to be one of the most misdiagnosed, under-diagnosed, and misunderstood diagnoses in the mental health field.
Heartbreakingly, studies estimate that it takes an individual who suffers from OCD an average of “anywhere between 7 to 17 years” to receive an accurate diagnosis (NOCD).
People with OCD are often misunderstood - sometimes even by the clinicians and loved ones trying to help them. These misunderstandings can perpetuate and prolong suffering, so getting this right matters for supporting those we love with OCD and helping guide them to proper care.
As a clinician who specializes in treating OCD, I’d like to suggest and correct four common misconceptions about OCD and those who have it.
1. OCD is primarily found in fear of germs or a need for symmetry.
OCD is often classified by its subtype, often referred to as an “OCD theme.” While it is true that the themes of Contamination OCD and Symmetry OCD are quite common, these are only two of the dozens of subtypes, including Harm, Relational, Religiosity, Scrupulosity (Morality), Sexual (most commonly Pedophilia or Sexual Orientation), and Pure-O OCD to start.
2. Compulsions are always observable.
Compulsions, most often referred to as the behavioral mechanism that temporarily calms an anxious urge or intrusive thought or memory, are often observable.
We may see this in patterns of checking behaviors (e.g. checking that the oven is off five times before we can go to sleep), or “just right” behaviors (e.g. turning off and on the light switch until something in our somatic system informs us that it's been turned off “just right”).
However, compulsive behaviors are not always observable. Just as common as those listed above are silent or mental compulsions, such as neutralizing thoughts (e.g. if I hear a bad word, I may intentionally think “pure thoughts” in order to neutralize its effect), or even prayer (e.g. if I think a bad thought, I may directly turn to prayer in order to “rewrite” that thought such that no one gets harmed).
These invisible compulsions are easy to miss, but just as persistent, and therefore essential in receiving holistic treatment.
3. The content of the obsession and/or compulsion informs us about people’s character or desires.
The truth of OCD’s nature is the inversion of this statement. What I have consistently witnessed in treating OCD is that an individual’s obsessive content typically reveals the inverse of their desire.
OCD informs us of their fear, and thus highlights what they value.
I’ll give a personal example of one of my own experiences with OCD tendencies that I’ll never forget.
For years, when poolside with young littles around, I couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from flying in: “What if I pushed them in?”
My body would shudder, thinking about the danger this could pose - freaked out by the simple power I held in that with one little push, a child could be in grave danger.
It wasn’t until one summer, poolside with my friend’s children, that her two-year-old daughter fell into the pool without her floaties.
Without second guessing, fully clothed and phone in the back pocket, I dove in after her and brought her up out of the water.
What could’ve been a day marked by tragedy thankfully turned to a short, scary moment for that sweet girl.
That’s when I realized: I imagine those dangers because there is little I value more in life than protection of the innocent – protecting those who cannot protect themselves.
OCD takes what we value and twists it backwards - only to tell us that what we care about most is at danger (and the danger is us).
Realizing this was deeply relieving for me, and helping those with OCD understand this helps in separating themselves from the content of their intrusive thoughts.
4. The goal of treatment with OCD is to eliminate intrusive thoughts.
Our brains are wired for survival. So then why would we pretend that our brains wouldn’t look for patterns of danger everywhere we go?
The crux of OCD treatment is this: we can withstand uncomfortable things without taking action.
This does not mean that the scary thoughts will always disappear. The hope, indeed, is that they minimize as we treat them with compassion and a values-based approach…but this does not promise extinction.
Ultimately, OCD treatment seeks to empower people to notice and tolerate distressing thoughts without having to rely on repetitive behaviors and thought patterns that offer a temporary façade of safety.
Ultimately, we are helping people learn to be still again.
Finding Rest in a Restless World
On trading hurry culture for something better.
I recently took a brick to my phone.
Not quite Nick Offerman style with a hammer in that one commercial, as enticing as that may be. No phones have been smashed or thrown into the ocean.
Rather, I’ve Bricked (is this a verb now?) my phone’s most distracting and time consuming features for me - internet access, email, all social media type apps, and podcasts. It’s gone from a smartphone to an overpriced camera, navigation, text, and music player device.
The results have been what I expected, although still somewhat surprising - less anger and rage, increased ability to focus and be present, and better sleep.
To be sure, my dopamine, cortisol, and adrenaline levels are still sorting themselves out, still looking for the next hit. But in a relatively short amount of time, this turning away from something I carry around in my pocket is helping me find more space for rest.
I am often haunted by the words of the prophet spoken long ago: “In returning and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength.’ But you would have none of it…” (Isaiah 30:15).
These words are true for me. I would have none of facing how exhausted I am, how heavy the weight of saving the world has become, not to mention trying to save myself by more efficient tactics to keep on keeping on
Isaiah, in his day, called that strategy getting stronger and faster horses. We might call it an intervention, boundaries, safeguards, or accountability (all good stuff!). But there’s no outrunning or outmanuevering an always on newsfeed and the ever-increasing anxiety that accompanies it.
Maybe that’s why the last few weeks have felt more like withdrawals than a peaceful afternoon nap.
More like confession and surrender than an action plan.
More like being quiet and stumbling toward trust.
This type of rest that meets us deeply in our nervous system, in our bones, and, dare I say, our soul does not come quickly.
I am finding that rest most often comes for me at this stage in small and unannounced ways. It comes mostly as a surprise when there is enough space for me to hear and receive it. Sometimes just a word - as Isaiah put it, a word behind me, saying, “This - the way, walk in it…”.
So about that Brick…it is helping me with boundaries, accountability to others, and safeguards for my heart. It is not saving my soul. It is simply a tool that is helping me find more space for the life-saving rest I need.
What about for you? Might there be a first step, or next step, you can take to help your soul find the rest for which it so deeply desires?
Suggestions as a starting point:
Brick your phone -getbrick.com
Consider a 10, 30, 60, or 90-day social media fast.
Get outside in nature on a regular basis, preferably early mornings. Try it without earphones or AirPods.
For bonus points, plan a silent/quiet afternoon, day, or a whole silent retreat.
Make space daily for quiet. Start with just one minute of silence, meditation, or listening prayer and build from there. Maybe start with Isaiah 30.
Our Favorite Therapy Resources
A current list of our team’s favorite resources.
Whether you’re a therapist or not, we all know the struggle: sifting through the vastness of the internet, trying to find a particular resource for ourselves or someone else.
That’s why we gave our counselors a challenge this month: to pick two of their favorite therapy-related resources right now.
Here’s what they each said:
Podcast: The Allender Center Podcast
Website: Grace Alexander Flowers
Book: Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker
Podcast: The Place We Find Ourselves - Why Your Story Matters More Than You Think
For more recommended resources, check out our Resources page.
When “I’m Sorry” Isn’t Enough
How to repair the hurts that need more.
Let me tell you about one of my wife and I’s recurring conflicts from a while back.
Alyssa is a responsible, on time person.
I am becoming one.
Earlier in our marriage, I would be going out with a friend.
“I’ll be home at 7:15,” I’d say.
In my head, what that meant was, “I could be home around 7:15.”
She’d hear: “He’ll be home at 7:15.”
Lo and behold, I’d lose track of time, and shoot her a text: “Running late. Home at 7:35.”
I’d get a short text back: “Okay.” The kind of short text when you know something’s wrong.
Then, I’d prepare a defense for when I got home. “I haven’t seen Luke in a while,” or, “We were in an important conversation.”
I’d step through the threshold of our apartment and ready myself for my explanation, which would, of course, never land the way I’d imagine.
Over the course of a conversation, she’d maturely explain to me the real issue: it didn’t show respect to her or communicate that I valued our time. She just needed an update sooner.
Her needs completely valid, my error entirely clear, I’d (eventually) offer two small words:
“I’m sorry.”
Why Repair Requires More
But what about the hurts that need more? What about when sorry doesn’t erase the sting?
In my work as a couple’s therapist, I’ve seen firsthand the difference true repair makes. The kind that actually heals what got hurt (or begins to), and brings couples into deeper connection than before.
It usually starts with some form of, “I’m sorry,” but it doesn’t end there.
In the stereotypical scenes of parents forcing siblings to apologize to each other, one sibling’s half-hearted apology is usually followed by a parent’s prodding of, “Sorry…for?”
There’s a hidden attachment principle reflected in that simple question: we can’t truly repair hurt that we haven’t first fully named, witnessed, and engaged.
This is why “I’m sorry” in many cases is critical but insufficient. It acknowledges some form of wrongdoing, but doesn’t offer curiosity or true engagement around the harm that was caused.
Engagement goes beyond, “Here’s where I was coming from.” It’s less focused on explaining our good intentions and cares more about understanding the impact we had, regardless.
It moves into the other person’s experience around what happened. It learns and owns our role. It carves out space to hear the meaning, impact, or importance of what happened.
It’s about “I’m sorry” and “I want to know what that was like for you.”
It matters because if our pain isn’t witnessed and heard, we struggle to move back into healthy connection. Without repair, the relationships we’re made for are threatened.
Five Questions To Ask
Here are five questions to consider asking when seeking to do repair:
Will you tell me about your experience of what happened?
What were you feeling when that happened?
What was the message or story my behavior communicated to you?
Is there more to this for you than I’m seeing now? (ex: a deeper history)
How can I can help you feel cared for now, or prevent this in the future?
The goal here isn’t to offer robotic or perfectly manicured scripts; it’s to offer language that allows us to engage well with the other person’s hurt.
It also isn’t automatically ignoring our side of what happened; it’s recognizing the time for sharing our point-of-view or intentions needs to come later, not at the beginning.
This, for many reasons, isn’t easy. For starters, many (if not most) of us did not grow up in homes where authentic repair was experienced or modeled.
We may fear if we make space for the other person’s experience, all we’ll get is attacked (rather than their vulnerability). Or, we might struggle to support ourselves through all the feelings that come with hearing how we hurt someone.
It also requires us to notice our natural tendencies towards defensiveness, offering explanations, or withdrawing when we learn we’ve hurt the ones we love.
I teach couples the acronym F-A-D-E to remember four impulses to avoid when responding:
F - Fix
A -Analyze
D - Defend
E - Explain
All of these are strategies that protect ourselves at the cost of the other person’s experience.
It hurts us when we hurt others. It’s hard to respond with care. And yet, we must.
Sending a Clear Signal
Ultimately, our imperfect efforts to listen to and validate the pain we may cause others are about sending a signal to those around us that says:
“I will be accountable for my actions and how they impact you, even when I didn’t intend to hurt you. You can tell me about how I’ve affected you, and even when it’s hard, I’ll be here to listen because I care about your feelings. Being connected to you is more important to me than being right.”
That’s why I’m now trying, failing, and trying again to offer more to Alyssa than, “I’m sorry.” (It’s why I’m also working hard to be on time. Both matter!).
The goal isn’t to never have ruptures, but to repair them when we do.
When done well, repair doesn’t just put back together what got torn apart.
It makes our relationships even stronger than they were before.
When Therapy Isn’t Helping
What to do when you feel stuck in therapy.
“I’m in therapy… so why am I still stuck?”
“I’m doing the work — so why do I still feel the same?”
“I talk every week… but my life looks no different.”
These are phrases I hear in my office from clients at every stage of the therapy process. And if I’m honest, they’re thoughts I’ve had in my own therapy journey too.
So why is it that we can show up to therapy and still not see much change or hope?
I often think of therapy like going to the gym. Just because I go to the gym doesn’t mean I’m getting stronger. It’s what I’m doing in the gym — and outside of it — that builds strength and capacity.
Therapy can be deeply transformative. But change doesn’t happen automatically, like taking a pill. Therapy is a process. And when we feel stuck, it’s rarely because we aren’t trying hard enough.
So what is it about?
What I’ve come to believe is this: if therapy doesn’t feel like it’s “working,” it’s because the work is missing something essential — your personal agency and focused intention.
Here are five possible reasons you might feel stuck in therapy — and shifts that can help you move toward greater agency and clarity.
#1: You’re in therapy to fix someone else.
This is often true when most of the session centers around someone else — your spouse, your kids, your coworkers or your circumstances.
It can feel cathartic to vent. Validation is a good and important desire. But if validation is all we’re receiving, we may be unintentionally avoiding the deeper invitation of therapy: to look at and take ownership of our own feelings, responses, and capacity to care for ourselves in what is.
Shift:
At the start of each session (or better yet, before you arrive), ask yourself: “What do I want for myself from this time?”“What can I work on today that doesn’t involve changing someone else?”
You can also ask your therapist to help you keep the focus on you. Many of us blame others for what we are responsible to give ourselves.
#2: You’re trying to escape a circumstance (rather than face what it brings up).
This often shows up as:
“If ______, then I’d be okay.”
If they changed.
If the job improved.
If the diagnosis went away.
We can want relief more than we want to feel or change.
I’ll never forget a friend saying to me, “I don’t want a counselor to just sit with me in my grief. I want someone to help me change how I’m relating to my grief.”
Shift:
I can’t change what happens to me. But I can change what I do with what I feel about it.
Growth happens when we learn to be with what is — not just when we try to eliminate what hurts.
#3: You’re focused only on behavior change.
If your sessions center mainly on stopping a behavior, you may feel frustrated by slow progress.
We don’t just change behavior because we decide to. We live out of our stories. We act from unmet needs, longings, fears, and protective strategies.
Until we turn towards what’s driving those strategies, change won’t last. Real change comes when we grow in our capacity to be with ourselves and others with curiosity and love.
Shift:
Ask: “What am I actually trying to feel — or not feel — when I do this behavior?”
Lasting change comes when we learn to relate differently to our own needs, emotions, and desires. It starts when we get curious and honest about the deeper rooted dynamics driving our actions.
#4: You’re talking around the real issue.
It’s possible to stay very “busy” in therapy and still avoid what matters most.
This might look like:
Storytelling instead of connecting to what’s happening inside you while you tell it
Avoiding vulnerable truths
Filling sessions with updates rather than depth (especially in monthly sessions)
Information is not the same as transformation.
Shift:
Slow down. Ask yourself, “Am I shaming, blaming or naming my experience?”
Notice where you feel tension, emotion, or discomfort — and stay there. Start by gently noticing the ways you might deflect from or avoid the things you’re most afraid to look at.
Real change happens when we focus on the core issues of our lives, rather than using therapy as a means to “just process.”
#5: You’re not being honest with your therapist.
Therapy is about becoming more honest.
More aware.
More responsible.
More connected to yourself — and ultimately, more human.
If you’re feeling stuck, say that.
If something isn’t working, say that.
If you need something different, say that.
Your stuckness might actually be an invitation — not a failure.
Shift:
Tell your therapist what is and isn’t working in session. Ask them how they see the work going.
If you’re nervous about offering this direct of feedback, start by naming the fear of doing this!
Hope When Therapy Stalls
Therapy doesn’t fail because you’re broken.
It stalls when we show up without ownership, without intention, or without the courage to go where it matters.
If you feel stuck, don’t quit.
Lean in.
Get clearer.
Ask for more.
At its best, therapy is a space where you practice relating differently — to your story, your emotions, your pain, and your agency. If it feels stagnant, that doesn’t mean it’s over. It may mean you’re standing at the edge of something deeper.
And the question isn’t, “Is therapy working?” but “How am I showing up in it?”
That shift alone can move the needle more than you think.
The Missing Piece To Better Conflict
Lessons from the film, The Break-Up.
It lives rent free in my mind: this scene from The Break-Up. Jennifer Aniston (Brooke) comes home to Vince Vaughn (Gary) playing video games.
“I’m going to do the dishes; it’d be nice if you’d help me,” she says.
Gary initially rejects her request and then begrudgingly agrees to help.
Brooke glares at Gary: “I want you to want to do the dishes.”
The fight is off to the races, with Brooke listing different ways she feels neglected by Gary: the dishes, the lemons Gary forgot, flowers he doesn’t get her, how they don’t go anywhere together. He takes each issue and argues against it.
At a certain point, Brooke tells him: “You’re not getting it.”
She’s right: Gary isn’t getting it! It’s not about the dishes (or the lemons, or the flowers, or any of these topics). It’s about a much deeper hurt (and longing) that they’re both missing.
If Brooke could slow the moment down and reach from a vulnerable place, it might sound like this: “I feel invisible to you. I feel alone. I don’t feel important to you and it hurts so much.”
In the real scene, Brooke continues to complain, and Gary continues to defend, eventually telling her, “All you do is nag!”
Eventually, he snaps: “Nothing I ever do is good enough.”
If Gary could stay there and speak from his fear, rather than his defense, it might have sounded like this: “When you’re angry, all I hear is that I’m failing you, and I’m exhausted by not feeling enough for you.”
Neither partner is the bad guy here. They’re just trapped.
The Negative Cycle
Gary and Brooke are caught in what Emotionally-Focused Therapists call a negative cycle - an ongoing feedback loop where each partner’s reaction increasingly triggers the others’.
Brooks feels alone → She gets louder, more critical
Gary feels inadequate → He shuts down or defends
Brooke’s protest gets louder → His distance grows
You could swap the dishes for money, sex, in-laws, you name it – the pattern would look mostly the same.
Underneath each partner’s “moves” (what they do) are well-hidden vulnerabilities: fears and longings that go unrecognized and unprocessed.
Brooke longs to feel desired and like she matters. Gary longs to feel acceptable and like he’s enough.
Instead of these softer parts of themselves, they only see each other’s protections - their armor. The more they meet their partner’s protective move, the more they reach for their own.
Because they can’t see the pattern, they don’t know when they’re in it - or how to step out of it.
The Three Ps
The Leading Edge Podcast has a framework for what couples should look for when trying to become aware of and step out of their negative cycles. They say to look at our: Pain, Protection, and Potential Impact.
Pain: When you find yourself in conflict with your spouse, what’s the deeper pain? The fear?
Protection: What do you do with what you feel, in order to protect yourself? Do you go quiet, shut down, or withdraw to find safety? Do you turn the heat up and get louder to get your partner’s attention?
Potential Impact: How does your protective move impact your partner and keep the cycle going? (It’s not about finding fault here, but about ownership of what you bring to the table).
Why It Matters
Couples who can become experts on their own cycles (oftentimes with the help of a therapist - we know a few!) can skillfully defuse conflict and turn it into connection. They stop arguing about content in a reactive way and start talking about the deeper issues - their pain - in a vulnerable way.
Once you know your cycle as a couple, you can begin to understand what your argument is really about - that it’s never really about the dishes, but about our deeper desires to be held, connected to, and seen by the ones we love.
That’s the real reason disconnection is so painful: because our relationships matter so much.
So, the next time you find yourself in conflict with your partner, pause.
Breathe.
Look for your pattern.
And remember: it’s you two together, against the cycle.
One Simple Question To Make A Big Difference
How to connect to what you desire.
With the holiday season in full swing, it’s so easy to get swept up in the whirlwind of activities—school productions, gift shopping, social events, and endless to-dos. Often the feelings of exhaustion, loneliness and anxiety seem to be more real than the hope, connection and joy we all sing about. Unfortunately, I think this isn't a "holiday issue." I believe it is a "me" issue.
How do we shift this?
Somewhere between wrapping presents and crossing off to-dos, we often forget to ask ourselves the simplest question:
“What do I actually want right now?”
I don't think it is a coincidence that the One whose birth we celebrate during this season began His ministry with this question, "What are you seeking?" (John 1:38). This question cuts to the heart and invites us right to the present.
I noticed this at our office Christmas party this year. I’d spent weeks planning, wanting everything to go smoothly for everyone. The night arrived, and while the laughter and conversations filled the room, I caught myself feeling oddly disconnected—like I was watching the evening happen rather than being in it.
So I paused. Took a breath. And quietly asked that question again.
What I wanted was simple: to enjoy it. To actually be with the people around me. To laugh, taste, notice, and not keep scanning the room for what needed to be done next.
That moment—barely a minute long—shifted everything.
We underestimate how quickly the holidays can pull us into performance mode. We want to give, to host, to care well, but in doing so we sometimes drift away from ourselves, the present and the real reason we are where we are. The pause doesn’t have to be long or dramatic; sometimes it’s just that gentle inward check-in that redirects our attention.
When we take that pause, we stop reacting to the chaos and start responding with intention. Our tone softens. We listen differently. We find ourselves laughing again instead of managing moments.
The people we love don’t need a flawless dinner table or the perfect gift. They need our attention, our warmth, our presence. They need us! We deserve to meet ourselves with the same care and compassion we offer others.
So, if you find yourself stretched thin this month, try this: before walking into a gathering, before sending that next email, before overthinking the seating chart, stop and ask, “What do I want right now?”
Maybe the answer is to breathe. Maybe it’s to step outside for a second. Maybe it’s to really listen to the story your friend is telling. Whatever it is, that’s the way back to connection.
This season, may we practice slowing down just enough to notice what’s already good. May we choose connection over control, awareness over autopilot, presence over performance. Sometimes, all it takes is asking ourselves a quiet question at the right moment, and slowing down long enough to listen to the answer.
I Know My Trauma, But What Do I Do About It?
When knowledge itself of what happened doesn’t heal .
I will never forget the day I was sitting in my Human Growth and Development class in graduate school when our counseling professor, Dr. Dan Zink, sauntered into the lecture room right on time, like a wizard arriving precisely when he means to.
"Do you want to know what human growth looks like? Do you want to know what you are helping your clients do in session? It is ONE word..." He paused as we all pulled out our notebooks, ready for the secret to the universe. Then, he grabbed a red dry erase marker and - using the entire double white board - wrote the letters, G-R-I-E-F.
"Grief," he said. “No one wants to do this or feel this, butwe will never change, heal, or grow unless we are willing to grieve. We cannot heal what we don’t feel.”
Grief isn’t just sadness; it is the whole experience of feeling life on life’s terms. It is the ache that calls us back, not to fix what happened, but to acknowledge and turn towards what has happened.
But what does grief have to do with trauma and why we often feel stuck? What if we know about our trauma but still don’t know what to do about it? How is grief involved in the healing process?
This is a question that I have heard many of my clients ask, and one I’ve asked myself. The answer lies in understanding that trauma is less about what happened to me and more about what I did or am doing with what happened to me.
As Dr. Gabor Maté says, “The essence of trauma is the disconnection from the self.” It’s not the event itself that wounds us most, but the way we must disconnect from our experience, our humanity, others, and even God as a way to survive it.
This disconnection is a strategy to protect ourselves, yet it becomes the very self-inflicted wound that keeps us stuck. We disconnect in many ways, often unintentionally, and sometimes in ways that even seem helpful (like overworking or people pleasing). This means that knowing what happened may not be as important as noticing what we’ve done or are doing with what happened.
Healing, then, isn’t just about remembering what happened or trying to get something to go away. Healing is the work of slowly re-attending to whatever is hurting with love, patience, courage and clarity.
So, how do we do that? Here are a few, simple steps in the right direction.
Steps Toward (Re)connection
Slow down. The more complex the trauma, the more complex the strategies we develop to keep ourselves from slowing down and connecting. Slow down in order to be with your experience.
Identify. Ask, What am I feeling? Naming emotions makes them real.
Own it. Ask, Is it okay to feel this right now? As children we couldn’t handle big feelings alone; as adults, we can choose to feel and seek support.
Explore. Ask, What is this emotion telling you? Approach it with curiosity, not judgment.
Express. Notice how the feeling lives in your body. What does it want to do—cry, rest, move, speak? Allow a little space for that.
Get help. We won’t risk connecting to painful experiences unless we trust that someone—or something—will meet us on the other side. Find safe people, like a counselor, who can hold space and guide you as you risk feeling again.
You can know your story backward or hardly at all—the way forward is the same.
What are you doing with your experiences of pain, rejection, or abandonment?
As much as I resist it, I want to—as Andy Gullahorn sings—“take a broken heart instead of one that doesn’t feel.”