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Chronic Illness

Living with chronic illness can be destabilizing. Beyond the physical challenges, it often brings grief for your former self along with uncertainty about the future, and shifts in relationships.Therapy can provide a space to process these changes and explore how your identity is evolving. I work to support you in building emotional resilience alongside your medical care. I draw on my own understanding of chronic illness to approach this work with empathy and insight.

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Services

I offer individual, one-on-one psychotherapy sessions.Sessions are approximately 50 minutes, giving space to explore what’s happening now and what may have shaped your patterns over time.

Availability

I offer virtual sessions for clients in New York, New Jersey and Florida.
Early birds can take advantage of sunrise appointments, and I also have Sunday openings for extra flexibility.

Investment

I maintain a private pay practice to focus on depth, flexibility, and individualized care. I do not accept insurance directly, but I provide superbills so clients can submit for reimbursement if they have out-of-network benefits.If you’d like to learn more about scheduling or how out-of-network reimbursement works, feel free to reach out. I’m happy to answer questions and help you understand your options.

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Between Sessions …✎

Thoughts and reflections on life and the human experience

These are my between-session ramblings, moments I’ve noticed, questions I’ve wondered about, and little observations about life and growth. Take what resonates, leave what doesn’t, or just enjoy a moment to pause.

Coffee, Socks, and Tiny Victories
October 22, 2023


My coffee came out really good today. And I’m not even a coffee snob, or a regular coffee drinker for that matter. But it was good enough for me to stop and notice it, which had me thinking about all the small things that quietly matter.
 
It made me think about how many things we do every day that go unnoticed. Like matching socks in a drawer. Getting out of bed without hitting snooze more than once. Folding the laundry before it becomes the kind of pile that whispers at you all day. Remembering to eat something that isn't toast with last night’s coffee on the side.
 
None of these things are life changing. And honestly, in most moments they barely feel worth mentioning. But on days when nothing dramatic happens, when the emotional weather feels gray or heavy, these tiny choices can feel like a subtle reminder that we are here, that we are present, that we are still trying.
 
I find myself thinking often about how habits shape us before we even notice them. Not habits that are forced or rigid or tied to a to-do list. But the quiet rhythms we build into our days because they help us function. The habit of making a cup of coffee in the morning in the way that feels familiar to you, of brushing your teeth before bed, of walking to the kitchen and realizing the sun hit the counter just right this morning.
 
When we pause and notice these ordinary routines, there is something quietly satisfying about it. It is not that noticing the coffee made my whole day perfect. It is that for a moment I was fully present to the ordinary good in my life. That small pause was a reminder that even on days that feel heavy, there are still moments that feel steady, or pleasant, or simply noticeable.
 
There are certainly days when the wins feel bigger. Calling a friend you have been meaning to reach out to. Speaking up for yourself in a situation that felt uncomfortable. Taking the first step toward something that has been on your mind for weeks. Those moments feel significant when they happen, and they matter in their own way.
 
But there are also days when the wins are small. The coffee is good. The socks stay together as a pair. The laundry gets folded before it starts whispering demands. On those days, I wonder if the felt experience of noticing these small things has its own form of nourishment. It reminds us, gently, that we are still here, still engaged with our own lives, still building little patterns that carry us forward.
 
I once read that habits are the hidden architecture of our daily life. James Clear explores it in his book, Atomic Habits. And that felt true in a quiet way today, when my morning coffee tasted good and I gave it a moment of attention. There was no fanfare, no fireworks. There was simply a realization that I had done something ordinary and it felt worth noticing.
 
Sometimes building habits is talked about as if it has to look dramatic or impressive. But often the habits that sustain us are subtle. They are the things we do again and again without much thought until, slowly, they become part of how we move through the world.
 
Pausing to notice those routines can remind us that the small parts of our lives are not empty. They are not meaningless filler between the big moments. They are the texture of our days.
 
I’ve written this in a way that examines all of it - the coffee, the socks, the little victories - because I like thinking about these things. But you don’t have to. Noticing it is enough.
 
So if you find yourself noticing small things like a good cup of coffee, or a walk that felt relaxed, or even the fact that you showed up for another day without collapsing into bed as soon as your head hit the pillow, take that in. There's no need to overthink or analyze it, just notice. It simply means you are living in the ordinary moments of your life in a way that feels real.
 
And sometimes that is exactly what makes a day feel a little lighter, a little steadier, a little more worth paying attention to.

Grief, Even When No One Died
Feburary 5, 2024


When I say I work with grief, people often assume I mean death.
 
Sometimes I do. But more often, I mean something quieter. Less visible. The kind that doesn't bring casseroles or condolence texts. The kind that slips into a session disguised as anxiety, irritability, loneliness, or a vague sense that something feels off.
 
Over time, I began to notice a pattern. So many conversations, no matter where they started, gently made their way toward some version of loss.
 
Grief for the life someone imagined they would have by now.
Grief for a relationship that never became what it promised to be.
Grief for a version of themselves that felt more certain and more hopeful.
Grief for a childhood that didn't offer what it should have.
Grief for time that cannot be returned.
 
It's not always about what happened. Often, it's about what didn't.
 
We don't have a clear script for this kind of grief. There is no defined beginning or end. No socially acceptable mourning period. Because of that, people tend to question themselves. The loss gets minimized because it doesn't look obvious from the outside.
 
Transitions seem to hold this especially strongly. A move. A breakup. A job change. Becoming a parent. Not becoming a parent. Reaching a certain age and realizing the timeline in your head has quietly shifted. Watching peers move ahead in ways you thought you would too.
 
Change asks something of us, even when it's welcome or chosen. There is the practical adjustment, but underneath that is something more delicate. A coming to terms with the fact that the story we were quietly writing in our minds is no longer the one unfolding.
 
Sometimes in sessions we discuss what it might look like to come to some level of acceptance. But as I sit with that word, I'm not even sure if it's always the right one. We use it often, but does it always fit? Acceptance can sound final. Clean. As if we reach it and the ache dissolves.
 
What I see more often is something slower and less decisive. A learning to carry what is true without fighting it every minute. Slowly making room for both the life that is here and the one that didn't happen. I don't think we land on acceptance once and stay there. It feels less like arriving somewhere and more like softening into what can't be changed, then tightening again when it brushes up against us unexpectedly. Some days that feels steady. Other days it feels raw again, because the loss mattered. That, too, is part of the process.
 
When things don't go as expected, there is often a double layer of pain. The first is the disappointment itself. The second is the quiet isolation of wondering whether this even counts as something you are allowed to grieve. Not everyone will recognize it as grief. Even you may not recognize it as grief at first. In fact, much of the work we do together is simply naming it and making space for what it is, without trying to shrink it or compare it.
 
There is something deeply human about mourning the gap between what we hoped for and what came to be.
 
I call it grief because it honors the weight of it. It gives it dignity. It says, this mattered.
 
Maybe acceptance isn't the only word. Maybe it's closer to integrating. Or allowing. Or finding a way to live alongside what did not unfold the way we imagined. Not because we approve of how things turned out, but because constantly bracing against reality is exhausting.
 
If you find yourself unsettled in a season of change, quietly aching for something that never quite existed in the way you thought it would, you are not overreacting, nor are you behind. You may simply be grieving.
 
And that kind of grief deserves space too.

Chronic Illness Is a Transition No One Prepares You For

Adjusting to chronic illness when your life doesn’t look the way you planned.

May 12, 2024

There are transitions we expect.
Graduating. Getting married. Moving. Having children. Changing careers.Even when they’re hard, they’re recognizable. People send cards. There are books about them.Chronic illness is different.
It arrives quietly or suddenly and almost always without a roadmap. Instead of marking a clean chapter break, it slowly rewrites the rules of your life while you’re still trying to follow the old ones.If you’re adjusting to chronic illness, you may feel like you’re living in between versions of yourself. The person you were, the person you thought you’d be, and the person you’re still becoming.That in-between space can be disorienting and lonely.

Identity Changes When Living With Chronic Illness

For many women - especially high-functioning, capable, used-to-holding-it-together women - chronic illness isn’t just physical.It’s an identity disruption.You may have been reliable, productive, the strong one, and the one people leaned on. Now your body has different expectations.Fatigue shows up uninvited. Pain interrupts plans. Brain fog edits conversations mid-sentence. Your calendar may still look ambitious, but your nervous system has other ideas.The emotional impact of chronic illness often isn’t just about symptoms. It’s about losing the version of yourself who could push through anything.That loss deserves acknowledgment, even if no one else sees it.

Grieving the Life You Thought You’d Have

There is real grief in adjusting to chronic illness.Not only grief for health, but grief for spontaneity, energy, certain career paths, the ease you once took for granted, and the imagined future that now feels uncertain.This grief can feel complicated because you’re still here, still functioning, still trying your best. That can make it hard to give yourself permission to feel it.
You might catch yourself thinking, “It’s not that bad,” or “Other people have it worse,” or “I should just be grateful.”And yes, gratitude can live alongside it. But so can grief.
Adjusting to chronic illness means giving both space, without judgment.

When Everyone Else Moves On (And You Can’t)

One of the most painful parts of chronic illness as a life transition is how invisible it can feel.
Friends move forward. Colleagues advance. Social media continues its relentless highlight reel.Meanwhile, you may be recalibrating what a “full” day even means.
There can be a quiet shame in not being able to keep up.
You might cancel plans more often than you’d like.
You might calculate energy before saying yes.
You might feel guilty for needing rest.And because you don’t “look sick,” others may not understand why everything feels harder.This is especially true for women, who are often socialized to be accommodating, steady, and unfailingly competent.Chronic illness doesn’t ask for permission before challenging those expectations.

Living in a Body You Didn’t Choose

There is also a relational shift, with your own body.
 
You may feel betrayed by it. You may feel frustrated, disconnected, hyperaware of every sensation.
Adjusting to chronic illness often means renegotiating that relationship.
 
Instead of pushing, you may be learning to listen. Instead of overriding, you may be learning to pace. Instead of proving, you may be learning to soften.
This isn’t a linear process.
Some days you’ll feel acceptance and other days you’ll want your old life back. Both are normal.Support for women with chronic illness isn’t just about symptom management. It’s about creating space to process these layered emotional shifts, without minimizing them or turning them into a self-improvement project.You are not failing because your body has limits. You are adapting.
And adaptation takes time.

Chronic Illness as a Life Transition

We don’t often talk about chronic illness as a transition, but it is.It changes how you see yourself, how you structure your days, how you relate to others, and even how you imagine your future.Transitions require integration. They require meaning-making. They require grief and adjustment. They are rarely meant to be navigated alone.If you are coping with chronic illness while also managing career stress, relationship strain, or other major life changes, it can feel like too much, because sometimes it is.Therapy can be a space where you don’t have to explain why this is hard.
 
A place where you can:
- Process the grief
- Explore identity shifts
- Untangle productivity guilt
- Learn to respond to your body with more compassion
 
And rebuild a life that fits who you are now, not who you were supposed to be.

You Are Not Weak for Finding Chronic Illness Hard

Chronic illness asks you to adjust in ways most people never have to think about.It challenges autonomy. It challenges predictability. It challenges control.
 
Of course that’s stressful and of course that changes you.
If you are a woman navigating chronic illness and feeling overwhelmed by the transition, you deserve support that honors both your strength and your exhaustion.
 
You don’t have to frame this as resilience training and you don’t have to turn it into a growth arc.Sometimes it’s simply about having a steady place to land while your life recalibrates.
And that, too, is meaningful work.

If you’re navigating chronic illness and want support as you adjust to these changes, you don’t have to do it alone. You can reach out here to schedule a session or learn more about how therapy can help you feel steadier in this transition.