Many of my clients have insurance. And still, they tell me: 'I couldn’t find anyone who looked like me. No one called me back. The therapist didn’t feel safe.’ The hard truth is, coverage doesn’t guarantee care. It doesn’t guarantee choice, continuity, or cultural resonance. As a therapist, I made the decision not to bill insurance—not to limit who I serve, but to preserve how I serve. Working with nonprofits allows me to prioritize relationships over reimbursement codes, presence over productivity. While legislation like the ‘Big Beautiful Bill’ may expand coverage, until the system values care that heals instead of care that performs, I’ll keep working where my clients can be fully seen.

There’s a certain kind of silence that often blankets warm summer nights—the kind that settles just after an event or dinner ends and you're walking yourself to your car. Maybe there were couples laughing at nearby tables, partners sharing cocktails, families corralling sticky-fingered children—and you, there too, feeling full and somehow a little lonely.

But what if this summer wasn’t measured by your proximity to partnership?

What if it wasn’t about putting yourself in places to meet someone, but placing yourself in spaces where you feel most you?

Identity, Storytelling, and the Work of Becoming. In narrative therapy, we don’t ask what’s wrong with you? We ask: What story are you living in? Who wrote it? And how do we find your voice again inside it? For many people exploring their sexuality and gender, this question is not theoretical—it’s urgent.

The strong, silent figure. The protector. The provider. The one who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break, doesn’t cry. Somewhere in the timeline of manhood, vulnerability was written out of the script. Anger, numbness, overwork—those were permitted. But softness, grief, longing, tenderness? Those had to be swallowed or smothered.

Healing from burnout isn’t about quick fixes or grand transformations. It’s a slow return to yourself, a process of relearning what rest feels like, what boundaries mean, and how to trust your own rhythms again.

Burnout doesn’t always roar in dramatically. More often, it tiptoes in, disguised as productivity, masked by perfectionism, hidden beneath the weight of obligation. It’s a slow erosion of energy, purpose, and connection.