For many autistic adults, the realization doesn't begin with a diagnosis.

It begins with a sentence.

"I thought everyone felt this way."

Maybe you stumble across a social media post about autism. Maybe a friend gets diagnosed. Maybe your therapist asks a question you've never considered before.

Suddenly, experiences you've had your entire life start to make sense.

The exhaustion after social events. The need for routines. The overwhelm when plans change. The feeling that everyone else seems to understand unspoken rules that you somehow missed.

One common misconception about therapy is that you need to arrive with a perfectly organized explanation of your life. You don’t. You don’t need a timeline, a list of goals, or a detailed account of everything that’s ever happened to you.

Many people start with something as simple as “I’ve been feeling stressed lately,” “Things have been feeling hard,” or even, “Honestly, I’m nervous to be here.” And that’s enough.

A big part of a therapist’s job is helping you figure out what’s important and what you’d like to focus on. Therapy is a place to discover what you need. You don’t need to have all the answers before you walk through the door.

One of the most painful things I witness in my therapist chair is not always what someone experienced, but how quickly they begin questioning whether it was significant enough to matter.

A client may spend twenty minutes describing a relationship that left them anxious, disconnected from themselves, constantly walking on eggshells, or questioning their own reality. Then, almost as an afterthought, they’ll say something like, “But maybe it wasn’t that bad,” or “other people have gone through worse.”

It’s often said with uncertainty, as though they are trying to determine whether they have earned the right to feel hurt.

If you've spent any time in ethical non-monogamy spaces, you've probably heard the word compersion.

Compersion is often described as the feeling of joy, happiness, or excitement when your partner experiences joy with someone else. Some people describe it as the opposite of jealousy.

And while compersion can be a beautiful experience, somewhere along the way many people received a message that sounds something like this:

"If I'm really good at polyamory, I should feel compersion all the time."

Have you ever had a week where your ADHD feels manageable, only to find yourself completely overwhelmed the next?

Maybe you're forgetting appointments, struggling to start tasks, losing track of conversations, or feeling emotionally exhausted. You wonder what changed because last week everything felt easier.

If this sounds familiar, you're not imagining it.

Many of the late-diagnosed autistic adults I work with don't come to therapy wondering if they're autistic.

They come in saying things like:

"I've always been shy."

"People just exhaust me."

"I need a lot of alone time."

"I've always felt different."

"I'm just introverted."

And sometimes those statements are true.

Sometimes they're also incomplete.

If you've spent any time on ADHD TikTok, Instagram, or Reddit, you've probably had the experience of hearing someone describe ADHD symptoms and thinking:

"Wait...everyone doesn't do that?"

At the same time, many ADHD symptoms look surprisingly similar to burnout.

Losing someone close to us is one of the most difficult experiences we can have. When we lose a distant relative, an acquaintance, a friend of a friend–that loss can often feel different, but it doesn’t mean you don’t feel the loss. Let’s take a moment to give some space for the sometimes confusing grief that comes with losing a distant acquaintance.

At some point, many people find themselves asking the same question:

"Am I asking for too much?"

Maybe you've asked for more communication.

More affection.

More quality time.

More accountability.

More intimacy.

More effort.

And after enough disappointment, enough arguments, or enough self doubt, you start wondering whether the problem is your expectations.

If you’re queer and living with a chronic illness, you may already know what it’s like to navigate a world that requires more time, energy, and advocacy in order to be heard. When most people hear about chronic illness, they often think about the clinical side: medication. Pain. Symptoms. The reality of chronic illness is rarely so narrow.

For many people, Pride season feels like a homecoming—a chance to celebrate identity, connect with the community, and feel seen. You might spend weeks looking forward to a parade, festival, or local event. Then, as the day approaches, anxiety starts to creep in. Maybe you worry about the crowds, noise, long lines, or constant activity. You may even wonder if you'll be able to enjoy the experience once you're there.

Last Tuesday I was driving home when in the corner of my eye, a familiar messenger appeared: a faded reader board in front of a local church that read, "All are welcome.” At first glance, I reflected on how comforting this message sounds, and I even repeated it a few times to myself as I waited for the light to change. Then, an all-too-familiar follow-up question settled into my passenger seat: "I wonder, would everyone who has visited this church agree?"

If you are coming out later in life, questioning your sexuality, or wondering if you might be queer in your 30s, 40s, 50s, or beyond, I want to start with this:

You are not behind.

You are not broken.

And no, you did not “miss it.”

Relational or couples therapy is often considered a secondary add-on to the “medically necessary” work of individual treatment; it’s nice to have, but not exactly a pressing need. It’s even common for couples therapists to delay relational counseling until the partner with the condition has made significant progress in individual treatment. While it’s true that relationship counseling can never be a substitute for individual work, and that we’re each responsible for our own mental health journey, relationship counseling can provide vital benefits for mental health treatment.

There is truly nothing like an ice-cold coffee on a summer day. You’re sweaty from running errands, your emotional support sunglasses are on, and suddenly an iced vanilla latte feels less like a beverage and more like self-care. A little treat. A tiny spark of joy. A reason to continue answering emails. And friend, I get it!

OCD is a condition in which intrusive thoughts become sticky and distressing, and people feel driven to use compulsions to relieve that anxiety. When it comes to treating these thought loops, reliable information can be surprisingly hard to find. In parts one and two, we went over myths about what OCD is and how it works. Understanding what OCD does is an important first step in treatment, so you’ve already taken a big step. Let’s break down some more myths, this time all about OCD treatment.

If you’ve spent time learning about OCD, you may have realized that the version of OCD portrayed on screen is rather incomplete or inaccurate. After learning the many forms OCD can actually take, the next question is often “why?” and “how?” In part one, we went over common myths about what OCD is. When it comes to the why and how of OCD, there is again no shortage of misinformation.

From sitcoms to reality TV to social media, the world has a lot to say about what obsessive-compulsive disorder is, how it works, and how it’s treated. Unfortunately, not all of it is accurate. And when it comes to OCD, recognizing it is half the battle. OCD is a disorder that occurs when distressing intrusive thoughts become sticky and difficult to dismiss, causing intense anxiety and a drive to reduce that anxiety with compulsions. This can present in a wide variety of ways, and two people’s OCD may look very different from one another. 

I’m getting ready for work one morning and I have an algorithmically derived playlist on in the background. It’s playing my favourite genre; a mix of songs I love and new ones it thinks I’ll enjoy. When I hear the opening chords of a song I adored in high school, I get first that familiar rush of nostalgia and care and then the crashing horror as I’m reminded of the trial, the verdict - an artist I once loved having done something horrific.