Amy Eller (She/Her)

Identity exploration

Trauma (both childhood SA/PA & religious)

Anxiety or burnout

Relationships

Life transitions

Grief

Neurodivergence

Feeling disconnected from yourself

Perfectionism or people-pleasing

Life kept offering me these lists of rules and expectations, leaving me feeling like I must be those things, that person, live this way, wear incredibly uncomfortable shoes - both literally and figuratively. The less I referenced the list and the more I just kept searching for me, the easier it was just to be. I continue to see others on a path that may not be theirs or never felt like home. Or, they didn't even know what they wanted their home to be. I want people to find their "home" - whether that is within themselves, their bodies, their relationship, their career, or any other form. Then, to decorate their "home" - however they want. And, then to realize they are not alone. A community awaits if they will maybe look through a slightly different lens. Or squint. Squinting sometimes works too.

Birds, flowers, home. As if it not already obvious, all of these things, all of me shows up in therapy. I am known for my cheesy references and sayings. We talk about birds and their survival as dinosaurs. How hummingbirds evolved to lose their ability to walk, only to fly higher towards food and away from danger. That seeds can even be free and the fruits of these - oh what you can do in only a few minutes a day with so little space, almost no money, and yet the rewards keep coming. Can't life be like that too. Home - finding the soul of a house, the original and each subsequent layer of paint, the stories it tells. The rooms and who shared them before you did. Suddenly you notice connections to people you never even knew. These things connect me, help me to realize the small and big of things. Outside of my head and into the world. Wandering even if I never even left.

Often, people have had a wonderful experience with therapy and my role is soooo easy in those spaces. The door is already open and they are ready and have a sense of what to expect. For others, it's truly terrifying. They might be influenced by a negative experience - particularly in their early years where therapy was forced upon them or in a way that left them feeling judged and hurt. Or, there is a sense that therapists have this ability to quickly analyze and see into their souls. While this would be nice (sometimes), this is hardly the case. So, in most therapy situations, we spend a great deal of time building trust, myth-busting, giggling, sharing easy stories, allowing a connection to take place. It's gradual, slow even, and hopefully turns out being a little easier than they had anticipated. When you can see the exhale of relief, my heart smiles. Or, when we start out our next session with a little less anxiousness in the room, this, this moment - this is why I'm here. My face smiles too!

The seeds of their sessions. The silly terms we came up with that brought forth all sorts of emotions, and now maybe they just smile as they get it. The cheesiness of it all, and how they will have these moments where they remember a tool or an approach - and it works. They can look in the mirror and see all of the beauty that was there all along. Scars and all.

That email, text, note - days, weeks, months, and even years later - that in tiny or big ways - says between the lines or in very obvious language - what we did together mattered. I'm here. I'm making it. And, sometimes, it's still okay to come back or seek therapy again elsewhere because now you are ready for the next step. I don't like goodbyes. I always leave with "talk soon" because we will. Somehow. Heard your song, saw your favorite bird, remembered your flower, and there you were again.