The Gift of Healing:
Why Therapy Is Worth It

There is a particular kind of courage in asking for help. Not the dramatic, heroic kind — the quiet, almost reluctant kind. The kind where you finally admit to yourself that what you've been carrying is too heavy to carry alone.

I've been thinking a lot about what gets in the way of that moment. And in my years working with new and expecting mothers, I've noticed that the barriers aren't usually what people think they are.

It's rarely about money, though that matters. It's rarely about not knowing where to find help, though that's real too. Most of the time, the thing in the way is a story.

I should be able to handle this on my own.
Other moms do it without falling apart.
It's not bad enough to need real help.
I'll wait until things settle down a little more.

These stories feel rational in the moment. They are not.

What We Tell Ourselves About Struggling

New motherhood is one of the most significant transitions a person can go through. Your body has changed. Your identity has shifted. Your relationships have reorganized themselves around this new reality. And in the middle of all of that, you're running on fragmented sleep and doing the most important work of your life.

When we struggle in that context — when we feel anxious, or sad, or detached, or overwhelmed — it is not a sign of failure. It is a sign that we are human. And in many cases, it's a sign that something clinical is happening that has a name, and a treatment, and a very good prognosis.

Postpartum depression. Postpartum anxiety. Birth trauma. Perinatal OCD. These are not character flaws. They are conditions that affect hundreds of thousands of mothers every year — including the ones who look like they're doing fine.

What Healing Actually Looks Like

What my clients often say

When I ask clients to reflect on their progress, a few themes come up again and again:

• "I feel like myself again" — not the same self as before, but a recognizable self. Present. Grounded. There.
• "I can enjoy things" — the ability to be in a moment without the running commentary of worry or despair.
• "I'm a better mom because of it" — this one moves me every time. Not despite doing therapy, but because of it.
• "I have tools now" — not a dependency on therapy forever, but skills and understanding that belong to them.
• "I already feel better just talking about it" — something I hear often in a first session. Being truly heard and validated — sometimes for the first time — is itself part of the healing.
• "I don't have to feel guilty all the time" — the guilt that comes with new motherhood is real and relentless. Learning to put it down, even a little, changes everything.
• "I know it's okay to do things for myself" — therapy often shifts the story a mother tells herself about what she deserves. Rest. Space. Care. She's allowed to have those things.
• "I can find moments of calm even in the chaos" — not a perfect life, but the ability to land in a quiet moment and actually feel it. That's what we're working toward.

Why I Do This Work

I became a perinatal mental health specialist because this is where I believe the stakes are highest — and where the gap between suffering and support is widest. I know this not only as a clinician, but as a mother myself.

As I moved through my own postpartum experience, I was struck by how little specialized support existed — how few true perinatal specialists there were, and how much confusing, contradictory information was circulating for new parents trying to make sense of what they were going through. That experience shaped everything about the work I do now. It became my mission to be the kind of support I wished had been more available: clear, honest, genuinely specialized, and grounded in what new parenthood actually feels like from the inside.

I believe this phase of life — as overwhelming as it can be — is also one of the most profound. My goal isn't just to help you get through it. It's to help you build the family life you imagined, from a real and honest place — not a perfect one, but one where you feel present, connected, and like yourself.

Mothers are often told to prioritize everyone else. Their own wellbeing becomes an afterthought. And the cultural message is still, too often, that struggling is something to push through rather than something to get help for.

I disagree with that message deeply. I think getting support is one of the most loving things a mother can do — for herself and for her child.

Asking for help is one of the most loving things you can do — for yourself, and for the people who love you.

You Don't Have to Wait Until It's Bad Enough

One of the most persistent myths about therapy is that you need to be in crisis to deserve it. That if you're still functioning — still getting the baby fed, still showing up to work, still answering texts — you're not bad enough to need help.

Please hear this: you don't have to be in crisis to benefit from therapy. You don't have to have hit a wall. You don't have to have failed in some visible way.

If you are anxious, and it's getting in the way of enjoying your life — that's enough. If you are sad, and you've been waiting for it to lift on its own — that's enough. If you had a birth experience that still feels raw and unprocessed — that's enough.

The gift of healing is available to you before things get worse. That's actually the best time to reach for it.

A Note on Telehealth

All of my sessions are conducted online — via telehealth. I work with clients in Oregon and Virginia.

I want to say something about why I think this matters for new moms in particular: telehealth removes so many of the practical barriers that keep mothers from getting help. You don't need childcare. You don't need to commute. You don't need to be dressed, or out of the house, or in a state to be seen by anyone in public.

You can take your session from the couch while the baby naps, while you nurse, while you make a bottle, change a diaper — or from your bed, still in pajamas. Babies and toddlers are most welcome. We do what we can, and that is always enough.