In therapy, we often focus on what people feel—anxiety, anger, shame, longing. We also pay attention to what they do in response—avoid, overthink, check, withdraw, use, or push things away. But there’s another variable that often goes unnoticed: How quickly does the system try to get rid of the experience? In my work as a therapist—particularly with people navigating anxiety, addiction, and the pull to avoid uncomfortable internal states—I see this all the time. A feeling sho

By Marc D. Richter, LICSW, LADC After years of sitting with pain—on both sides of the therapy room— I reflect on what keeps me grounded in this work: the quiet courage of my clients, the redemptive power of presence, and the kind of beauty that’s revealed, not erased, by suffering. Dignity is the quietest form of courage I know. It doesn’t depend on circumstances, appearance, or even composure. It’s what remains when the scaffolding of pride, certainty, and control collapses.

Every year in Vermont, we reach this point in November when the clocks shift, the days shrink, and the last of the fall colors give way to bare branches. The first snow is usually exciting, but the weeks in between — when the fields are brown, the sky is gray, and the sun seems to set before you’ve even finished your afternoon coffee — can feel heavy. For many of us, that heaviness sinks deeper than just “winter blues.” The season change can bring on real sadness, loss of ene

There’s a kind of freedom that comes when you stop trying to appear composed. The armor we wear — the practiced smile, the tidy story, the illusion of control — never really protects anyone. It only keeps the real parts of us underground, unable to breathe. Transparency isn’t weakness. It’s trust. It says, I’m here as I am, and I believe that’s enough. Whether I’m sitting with a client, writing a letter, or standing in a room full of strangers, I’ve learned that courage has

As a therapist, I hear every day about people’s emotions, experiences, and struggles. Clients share their disappointments and triumphs,...

In 1974, I was five years old, and even in kindergarten it was becoming clear that something was “wrong” with me. When the teacher told the class to line up, the other kids popped up and hurried to the door. I, on the other hand, was still immersed in whatever had captured my attention. I heard the words, but as the old saying goes, they went “in one ear and out the other.” “C’mon, Marc! GET IN LINE!!!” Both my kindergarten and first-grade teachers screamed often, their voice

SADE Head, heart, and gut across four unforgettable songs There’s something about Sade’s music that feels like it reaches straight into...

There’s a line buried near the end of a Tom Petty song— “Crawling Back to You,” from his Wildflowers album—that I’ve never been able to...

Listening to Your Three Brains A Practical Guide to Head, Heart, and Gut Wisdom By Marc D. Richter, LICSW, LADC, CADC What if I told you...