Rivers don't fight their banks. They don't try to make the water stop flowing. They work with the landscape, carving new paths when needed, but always, always moving.

The river is powerful not because it's still, but because it's alive

Here's something that will make you uncomfortable: Your stability might be the very thing destroying your relationships.

This insight cuts to the heart of why so many relationships spiral into patterns of resentment and disconnection.

When you are stable, you enable.

Exposure to someone else’s trauma can be traumatizing in itself.

The weight of other people's worst moments can crush the helper just as surely as it crushed the person who lived through it.

But we also get to see people at their grittiest, resilient best.

There is a power dynamic that shows up uninvited to every dinner conversation, every decision about money, every moment when someone needs to be right and someone else needs to keep the peace.

Therapists have a name for what most of us are doing without realizing it:

One up and one down.

Here's what's interesting: we think this is natural. We think it's just how things work.

It's not.

Most people don't want a yard sale.

They don't want to confront the unused exercise equipment, the ill-fitting clothes, the forgotten hobbies, or the gifts they never truly wanted. They don't want to answer the unspoken question: "Why did you keep all this for so long?"

But yard sales happen for a reason. They create space. They generate possibility. They force us to confront what we've been carrying and decide what's worth keeping.

Some days, you just need to know what time it is.

Other days, you wonder how the gears inside the watch actually work.

This is the perpetual tension that therapists face: addressing the immediate vs. understanding the fundamental.

Most people walk into their first therapy session with the wrong mental model.

They arrive thinking they're meeting with a doctor who will diagnose their condition and prescribe the cure. Then they leave disappointed when transformation doesn't happen in fifty minutes.

They've made a category error.

People lie to themselves all the time.

This isn't news. It's just that when you sit across from someone who's actively deceiving themselves—when you witness the intricate dance between what they say they want and what their actions reveal—you realize that self-deception isn't just common. It's fundamental to how we function.

There's a moment that arrives in every therapeutic relationship. The client who once needed you desperately has found their footing. Their voice is stronger. Their eyes hold yours with newfound clarity.

And yet, the appointment book still shows their name, week after week.

We spend our lives performing.

On the playground, in boardrooms, on Instagram stories. Waiting for applause, hearts, promotions, and nods of approval.

This week, I made a discovery that shouldn't have surprised me but did:

Most self-esteem isn't authentic at all. It's performative.

Most therapy sessions revolve around problems. That's the contract, after all. Client arrives with a problem, therapist helps solve it. The dance is familiar—each week peeling back layers of anxiety, trauma, and neuroses in search of understanding and healing.

But what if, for just one session, we stopped?