ACT

It's midnight. You're exhausted. The day is done, the house is quiet, there is nothing left that needs doing and your brain has decided that right now is the ideal time to: Replay a conversation from three days ago. Mentally draft an email you'll actually write tomorrow. Run through everything that could go wrong next week. Catalogue the things you forgot to do today. Solve a problem that doesn't need solving until Thursday. You're not choosing this. It's not useful. And the

There is a thought you have regularly that you know, on some level, isn't entirely accurate — and yet it runs your life anyway. I'm not good enough. Something bad is about to happen. I'm a burden. I'll never get past this. People can see through me. You've argued with it. You've tried to replace it with something more positive. You've reminded yourself of evidence to the contrary. And still, when it shows up — which it does, reliably, often at the worst moments — it lands wit

If you've ever had cancer — or are currently in treatment — you probably know this feeling without needing a name for it. The scan is scheduled. Somewhere in the days or weeks before it, something shifts: sleep gets harder, every twinge becomes evidence, and a low hum of dread settles in that you can't reason your way out of. This is scanxiety — the intense anxiety cancer patients and survivors feel in anticipation of follow-up scans, imaging, or results. For many, it's the h

Mindfulness has a marketing problem. Somewhere between the clinical research and the wellness industry, it got repackaged into something that sounds nothing like what it actually is — and everything like something a certain kind of person would roll their eyes at. Candles. Apps. The instruction to "just breathe." The implication that if you're still anxious, you're not doing it right. If that version of mindfulness hasn't worked for you, that's not evidence that you can't do

You know you need to rest. You've known it for a while. You're tired in a way that a good night's sleep — on the rare occasion you actually get one — doesn't fully fix. Your body is sending signals you've learned to override. People in your life have noticed. You've noticed. And yet. The moment you actually stop, something happens. The to-do list surfaces. The guilt arrives. A low hum of anxiety fills the space that productivity used to occupy. Your mind, with nothing externa

When people first hear that acceptance is a core part of therapy, the reaction is often the same. Acceptance? You want me to just accept this? It sounds like resignation. Like being told to make peace with something that doesn't deserve peace. Like giving up on getting better, on things changing, on the life you wanted. For people who have survived difficult things — trauma, illness, loss, burnout — the suggestion to "accept" it can feel like a profound misunderstanding of wh