Growing My Practice to Better Support People Impacted by Oppression

Transitions are a huge part of the life we live. We all go through those and in August, we begin to

think about some of those transitions. Young adults and recent high school grads start making

that transition to college. Moving to the dorms, selecting classes, and learning to live with a

stranger are just some of those transitions. Another transition is moving from vacation mode to

the regular grind of work, school, and chauffeuring kids around to their various activities. I too

am transitioning. I decided to refocus my work at Healing Hearts Healthy Minds to better support those who are experiencing the weight of oppression due to a society that is built on systems that excluded so many.

Growing my practice to better support people impacted by oppression means paying attention to

what actually happens during session. This isn’t just a change in scheduling or adding a new

service. It’s a shift in who I’m sitting with and what they’ve lived through. For years, most of my

work has been with teens and young adults. Now I’m opening my doors more intentionally to

adults who’ve carried harm for a long time, harm shaped by racism, sexism, ableism, economic

pressure, and other systems that make life heavier than it needs to be.

Working with teens often means meeting people right as they’re starting to name what feels

wrong. They’re sorting through early experiences of injustice, trying to understand why certain

moments stay with them. There’s a rawness to that stage of life. Things are happening for the

first time, and the impact is immediate. And let me tell you something. Many parents and

caregivers seem to dismiss the thoughts and opinions of teens when I find them to be pretty spot

on. That’s why I love working with teens.

Adults bring a different kind of story. Many have spent years navigating workplaces, institutions,

or family systems where speaking up wasn’t safe. Some learned to keep their experiences quiet

because they were ignored, doubted, or punished when they tried to tell the truth. That kind of

long term harm doesn’t show up all at once. I find that it settles into the body, into relationships,

into the way someone moves through the world. Sitting with that requires slowing down and

making room for the full picture, not just the parts that are easy to talk about.

This transition in my practice is changing how I listen. I’m listening for what happened, but also

for what was shut down. I’m paying attention to the ways people protected themselves, the ways

they adapted, the ways they kept going even when the world around them didn’t make space for

their safety or dignity. The work isn’t about rushing toward solutions. It’s about creating a place

where people don’t have to minimize their experiences or explain why they matter.

There’s emotional labor in this shift, and I take that seriously. Doing this work well means

staying steady, not turning away from hard truths, and not trying to “fix” what was caused by

systems rather than personal shortcomings. It also means caring for my own capacity so I can

show up fully without absorbing what clients have carried alone for too long.

At the heart of this transition is a commitment: adults impacted by oppression deserve a space

where their experiences are believed, understood, and held with care. They deserve a therapist

who sees the structural forces at play, not someone who reduces everything to individual

responsibility. Expanding my practice in this direction feels aligned with my values and with the

communities I serve.

This isn’t just a professional change. It’s an invitation. If you’ve been carrying harm quietly for

years, you don’t have to keep doing that alone. I’m building a space where your story can be

spoken, heard, and honored.