A recent New York Times article, "There’s a link between therapy culture and Childlessness", stirred up a lot of conversation by suggesting that therapy might be driving more people to opt out of parenthood. The piece implies that as therapy helps people name their childhood wounds, it’s also fostering fear—fear of becoming like one’s own parents, fear of harming a child, fear of not getting it right. It paints therapy as something that leads to estrangement, over-identification with trauma, and a kind of paralysis around parenting.
But as a trauma therapist—and a mother—I want to offer a different perspective.
Good therapy doesn’t tell people they’re too broken to parent. It helps them understand why they feel that way. And often, it helps them recognize that those feelings are old stories—shaped by experiences where they didn’t get what they needed, not because they were unworthy or unlovable, but because the people and environment around them were struggling too.
Therapy helps people see that trauma isn’t just what happened. It’s how what happened shaped the way we saw ourselves.
And that’s a crucial distinction. Two people can live through the same event and walk away with completely different internal experiences. When we name something as trauma, we’re not assigning blame—we’re acknowledging that our nervous system had to make sense of something overwhelming, often alone.
Naming our experiences as trauma-related doesn’t lock us in. It creates space—a little bit of distance between the self and the story, between the blame and responsibility. That’s where healing begins. That’s where flexibility in thought starts to grow. And from that place, people can start to reexamine their assumptions about themselves, their parents, and what kind of parent they might become.
Therapy doesn’t create estrangement. Sometimes it helps people recognize that proximity to certain relationships keeps them stuck in old roles, old wounds, and survival strategies that no longer serve them. Sometimes, healing requires space.
And let me be clear: we are not wired to detach from our caregivers. We are wired for connection. Children will go to extraordinary lengths—emotionally, cognitively, even physically—to maintain closeness. So when someone reaches the conclusion that they need distance from a parent to heal, it’s not because therapy talked them into it. It’s because the relational dynamic offered no other way forward. That’s not the “easy way out.” That’s a deeply painful outcome born from an unmet longing for safety.
Sometimes, that space allows for repair down the road. Sometimes it doesn’t. But in either case, therapy helps people honor their limits and build the internal scaffolding for a more integrated self.
And here’s what the article misses most of all: therapy doesn’t make people afraid to parent; It acknowledges that parenting in our current environment and with our previous experiences is hard and helps them parent with more intention. It helps them say, “This hurt—I want to do it differently,” without needing to be perfect. It gives them language for rupture and repair. It helps them recognize when their fear is old and when their child is safe. It helps them break cycles—not because they’ve figured it all out, but because they’re finally paying attention.
And for those who choose not to have children, it’s not because they’re “too therapized.” It’s because they finally had the space to ask themselves, without pressure or guilt, “Is this what I truly want?” That’s not fear. That’s clarity.
So no, therapy isn’t making people fragile.
It’s helping them slow down and ask better questions.
It’s helping them tolerate the discomfort of uncertainty, rather than defaulting to inherited patterns.
It’s making space—for grief, for clarity, for intention.
That space can feel unfamiliar at first. Lonely, even. But it’s also where new things begin—new ways of relating, of parenting, of living. And that’s not something to be afraid of. That’s something to honor.
As a therapist, I’ve witnessed how brave it is to choose curiosity over certainty.
And as a parent, I know how deeply uncomfortable and disorienting that can be—especially when you’re trying to do it differently than what was modeled for you.
It doesn’t have to be perfect.
It just needs to be intentional—rooted in a willingness to grow.
And if having a therapist makes that easier, why question that?

Attachment theory suggests that our early interactions with primary caregivers shape our view of the world and our reactions within it. At birth, a child presents their most authentic self, expressing needs without concern for context or timing. A newborn, for example, simply knows they need milk and believes they are worthy of having that need met, without considering the sleep deprivation of their parent. They perceive their needs as inseparable from their caregiver's response, developing a sense of security if these needs are met consistently.
While we need our children to learn they are separate autonomous humans, in attachment parenting, we want that learning to be held alongside information showing them that, even though they aren’t one with us, they aren’t alone in the world either. We want them to know that they still matter and belong and that while they are too small and vulnerable to do it themselves, they can be kept safe.
If our children’s needs are met with attunement and validation consistently over the course of childhood they learn that who they are in the world matters, that their perception of things are real and valid and that they are safe to explore and learn. They go on to develop a secure sense of self and have an easy time remaining connected to their authentic self and valuing their authentic needs throughout life. While this seems simple in principle it doesn’t happen nearly as often as it should for us to remain a thriving society. Unfortunately, many well-intentioned parents struggle to consistently meet their children’s needs, leading to feelings of isolation and insecurity in their children. When children feel their survival is at risk, their thinking and functioning become impaired.
If parents are unavailable, either physically or emotionally, infants adapt by altering their behaviors to elicit the necessary response from caregivers. If they learn when they cry they are ignored, they may learn to conserve their energy and fend for themselves. If their cries are met with an overwhelmed or angry caregiver they may learn not to cry or to present their needs differently so that it is more tolerable for their caregiver. If they learn a caregiver is passed out and unresponsive unless they get loud, they learn to escalate. Through this process of learning what behavior brings their caregivers close and which parts of themselves their caregiver rejects the person learns how to present themselves in the world. This adaptive process is healthy if caregivers respond appropriately. However, misattunements can lead to lasting impacts on how children understand and present themselves to the world.
The transition from theory to practice in attachment parenting is complex. It is not merely about breastfeeding or babywearing; it is about providing a secure base for children. Keeping children close aids in attunement but is not the entire point. Healthy attachment involves the separation process, which permissive parenting—often confused with attachment parenting—fails to support.
One of the hardest parts about working from an attachment perspective is recognizing the parents own attachment wounds and understanding how that influences our ability to remain a secure base for our children. Fostering healthy attachment requires us to see both our children and ourselves as separate capable beings. If we have unmet needs or unhealed parts, our children differentiating from us can bring up doubt, fear, anger, confusion, sadness and many other emotions and then our children pick up on our feelings and react accordingly and in that process they lose some connection with their own needs and perceptions, setting the stage for transgenerational patterns.
For attachment parenting to go well, the caregiver has to have an understanding of their own triggers, needs and patterns. They must be resourced enough to be able to meet their own needs so that they can remain a resourced adult for their children. They must be able to balance the need to be a stronger wiser guide for their children with the awareness that their children are autonomous beings worthy of respect and compassion and whose feelings and perspectives need to be validated without allowing that to consume the entire interaction or dictate all decisions. It is a delicate balance and in our fast pace high demand world slowing down and finding this balance takes intention. 

#authenticity #parenting #attachmenttheory #attachmentparenting #securebase #COS #cptsd

It is often hard to find the time or the energy to express my feelings at the end of the day but after a weeks vacation and what happened today in Alabama I am here for it. This is my SOS to other therapists, healers and caretakers. I see you (and if I am completely honest I am not entirely sure how to best help) and I want you to know that you aren’t alone, you aren’t crazy and this job is complicated and has never been more important. Well at least I know I need to remind myself that right now so figured others may need to hear it too.
We are at a precipice. Months before our next presidential election, months after the start of a brutal and horrifying display of what fear can do and money can buy. I have to keep coming back to the moment, to the sound of Bluey in the background and my dog under my feet, to not lose it completely. Somehow I am supposed to be a guiding light for others, the stable base for my children to securely attach. I have already gotten to the point in my career I understand and have accepted I cannot save anyone and I am not the expert in anyone else’s life at best I can offer some adaptive information and techniques towards integration but man the ride has gotten so messy and accepting the limits of my control when it comes to parenting further complicates it.
I am blown away daily by people’s strength and resilience. While each person and their story is unique the common humanity that unites us is impossible to ignore. I have truly come to believe that we are all just looking for a sense of safety and belonging to be our authentic self and developing the skills necessary to navigate the inevitable ups and downs and discomforts of life. So why is it so damn hard?!?
I can see beauty and commonality in us all AND I can be terrified and shocked by the public displays of humanity I am witnessing around me. Gaza, Trump, today’s news that something happening to someone’s frozen embryos in a fertility clinic is being equated to manslaughter (yes, I know this is a bit dramatic and not entirely factually accurate but its not as far off as it seems), the examples seem endless and it is hard to hold these dialects. To constantly have to oscillate, to pendulate, between the internal and external, logic and emotion, nature and nurture, hypoarousal and hyperarousal, the good and the bad, student teacher, wounded healer. I am exhausted.
Our climate (both literally and figuratively) feels so unstable and we are depending on dysregulated people to make balanced decisions. It’s a fallacy. We are turning empaths into martyrs to uphold a system that is simultaneously destroying us and things are so damn backwards its hard to see a way out.
After 6 hours of individual therapy sessions, 4 of which were with healthcare providers in one capacity or another and a drive home occupied by news about Alabama I am keenly aware that the energy that I bring into the house will have a profound impact on the way the rest of the night will go- so I put it away. I greet my kids trying to demonstrate that they are what makes it worth it while knowing the juxtaposition between my attempted display of affection and connection and the internal fire that was raging inside of me is confusing at best. If I let myself, this is an easy place to spiral into all I know about attachment theory and all the ways my external stress is impacting their development and perception of themselves and the world, but I try desperately not to. Come back to my breath.
My husband asks how my day was and I start spewing about the problems in our healthcare system and begin spiraling to worst case scenarios about what it could mean for the future of our country if there is legal precedence for giving an embryo personhood. What does it mean for our LGBTQIA+ folks if we make IVF illegal. What does it mean for our already overburdened social service departments if we eliminate access to birth control. What does it mean for women who desperately want a baby but doing so could cost them their life. What does it mean for victims of assault who are impregnated against their will? The questions go on and on and I know I am not solving them tonight so I come back to the moment and lean into gratitude and go back to the mild form of dissociation required to function in the system. In and out, trying to remain grounded in the dissonance.
 

I want to be open about the fact that writing this message brings its own share of fear and vulnerability. It's not easy to discuss such sensitive and emotionally charged topics, and I, like many of you, hope that I'm thinking clearly in choosing to share these thoughts. In today's world, where discussions can quickly become polarized, I hope that we can approach these conversations with open hearts and a commitment to understanding one another.

​I genuinely believe that fear is at the root of many of our problems. We are, at our core, animals, and like any other species, we become vulnerable to extinction when we perceive threats. In survival mode, nothing else matters.

When we are in the fight-or-flight response, our brain and body prioritize safety and survival above all else. This can lead to something as harmless as running away from a stick mistaken for a snake or as profoundly serious as harming someone because of their skin color.

Our thoughts hold immense power. They shape every interaction we have, and every interaction, in turn, influences the way we think. If we actively seek common ground, we are likely to find it. But the moment we perceive a threat, our ability to prioritize connection diminishes, and our primal instincts take over.

I continue to grapple with the situation in Israel, striving to find a balance and a sense of grounding amidst the options of avoidance, ignorance, and paralysis. As the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors, I've always felt the shadow of antisemitism and the potential dangers that fear of the 'other' can bring. Before World War II, Jewish people were depicted much as we see the portrayal of Palestinians today—stereotyped and dehumanized, which created emotional distance from the ethnic cleansing taking place. Fear of losing land and the fear of not having a place have fueled conflicts for the past 75 years, while the fear of being forgotten and overtaken, not seen, has driven inhumane behavior on both sides.

We are all plagued by fear. In this era of social media and novel ways to create 'in-groups' and 'out-groups,' it's an attempt to boost our sense of safety without necessarily pushing others away to connect.

Clarity of thought becomes elusive when we are gripped by fear. Coupled with the fact that the body can't distinguish between thought and reality, it underscores the importance of returning to the present moment, taking a deep breath, and grounding ourselves in our shared humanity and faith.

My heart goes out to family, friends and community in Israel. I am heartbroken and disgusted by the violence you are experiencing and will continue to look for ways to help.
 
As I navigate the complexities of this situation, I'm reminded of the importance of embracing a multifaceted perspective. It's clear that multiple truths can coexist, and holding hope while addressing the day-to-day challenges is indeed a heavy task.
 
In my work, I often stress the significance of mindfulness, which emphasizes the importance of being fully present in the moment. One of my clients shared a remarkable statistic: there's a 400 trillion to 1 chance of us existing as ourselves in this moment. This statistic underscores the preciousness of the present, so with my feet on the ground and my eyes wide open I show up for work and lean into the gratitude of my safety and wellbeing, and the day begins.
 
Yet, there's an undeniable tension between remaining present and thinking about the challenges faced by families and communities in Israel. In this moment, in my office, I am safe. However, a slight change in circumstances, a different familial connection, and I could be living through a situation of unimaginable hardship and I have family that are.
 
I tune back into my work, I hear the pain of client after client not feeling seen and the pain of disconnection and isolation.
 
I zone out, I scroll Facebook and I see posts from Jewish acquaintances expressing support and solidarity with one another during these trying times. They share their experiences of receiving support or the absence of it from the larger community. What's most striking is the silence, a lack of outcry against the antisemitism fueling the violence.
 
I must admit that memorizing historical details has never been my forte. However, I've found myself drawing a parallel between the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and historical events like the plight of Native Americans and Christopher Columbus. Two things can be true and the inability of people to tolerate that discomfort has led to ongoing violence and unfathomable destruction to one of these groups and tarnished the history of both forever.
 
It's poignant that while violence ravages Israel, the United States celebrates Indigenous People's Day, and Jewish communities worldwide celebrate Sukkot. These occasions serve as a reminder of gratitude for the fall season, the harvest, and the protection our ancestors sought on their 40-year journey after leaving Egypt.
 
The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is undeniably complex, and perspectives on the rights to the land vary depending on who you speak with and the sources of information you consult. When I visited Israel with Birthright 19 years ago, I could feel the tension and animosity, and it was evident that both sides were suffering. I do not condone the ongoing discrimination of Palestinians, just as I do not condone what Columbus did and yet I can adamantly oppose the terrorism of Hamas. I can recognize the importance of the Jewish people having a safe place to land after a history of genocide and disagree with aspects of the current Israeli Government. Just as I can maintain my connection to being an American and disagree with many of the decisions of our Government. However, it would be unfair not to acknowledge the privilege inherent in the ability to do this.
 
Irrespective of the intricacies, the current situation in Israel calls for a united response. It reminds me of the unity that emerged in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. Back then, there was no question of who deserved the land; there was a shared awareness that the violence was unacceptable, and innocent lives should not be lost. That same compassion and common humanity should extend to Israel.
 
As Jews, we must recognize that we are not exempt from biases, and adversity presents an opportunity for growth. Regardless of our backgrounds and beliefs, we can all stand together against terrorism, hatred, and violence, and advocate for compassion and healing.
 
In times like these, when we oscillate between mindful connection and self-preservation, between hope and survival mode, it's essential to remember that we are not alone. Together, we can face the complexities of this world and do the grueling work towards a more peaceful and just future for all.
 
Finding the balance is hard but it's easier with the support of others, and I welcome your perspective and the opportunity to have a thoughtful dialogue.