Reflections on Therapy and on Being Human

We all know the sting of being misunderstood. It’s more than a failed exchange of words—it unsettles our sense of who we are in another’s eyes. This post explores why misunderstanding feels so painful, why no one can ever fully “get” us, and how therapy makes space for the gaps between language and recognition.

Patients arrive with the anxiety that silence is a flaw, that if they stop performing they will disappear. But those pauses are often when the real work begins. Silence isn't a blank. It's a sign that something can't yet be said, and that is not failure. It is material.

When we don't feel well emotionally, it is almost instinctive to start looking for an explanation. But more often the search for why doesn't lead anywhere clear. It leads to looping, replaying moments, doubting what we remember, which tends to make the original feeling worse rather than better.

We don’t just leave places—we carry them. From language to memory, the immigrant experience reshapes identity in subtle but lasting ways.

A lot of who we are is built on repetition. Not dramatic moments, but the quiet, automatic ways we move through the world. In psychotherapy, some of this can shift. But not all of it, and understanding the difference is often where the more honest work begins.

Somewhere along the way, happiness became a project. Not something that arrives unexpectedly in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, but a goal, a deliverable, something you work toward through the right habits and the right mindset, and then maintain through continued effort as though it might slip away the moment you stop trying.

There is a quiet rebellion in making something for no other reason than love. Not so that you might be good at it, not so that you will sell it or show anyone at all. Just because it calls to you.