Roy "Benje" Morrison M.Ed. LPC-S

05/02/2026

You are not weak because this shattered you.

A man can survive war, addiction, poverty, hard labor, divorce, humiliation — and still be brought to his knees by the loss of one person. Especially when the loss arrives violently, suddenly, or without answers.

After loss, time changes shape.

Days become strange. People keep talking as if the world is still intact while yours has split open. You may find yourself replaying conversations, searching for signs, bargaining with the past, imagining different endings. You may feel anger one hour and numbness the next. You may feel guilty for laughing. Guilty for sleeping. Guilty for still being alive.

This is not madness.
This is grief.

Most men are taught to become useful during tragedy. Handle the paperwork. Make the calls. Carry the casket. Protect everybody else. And there is honor in that. But many men quietly disappear into function and never return to themselves.

Do not confuse silence with strength.

Strength is remaining present when every instinct tells you to retreat. Strength is answering the phone. Sitting with your children. Letting another man know you are not okay. Eating something. Showering. Walking outside. Surviving the night without destroying yourself.

There is no prize for becoming stone.

The Stoics understood something modern culture often forgets: mortality is not meant to make us colder. It is meant to make us pay attention.

Life is short not because every moment must be optimized, but because every moment is irretrievable. The ordinary things become sacred once they are gone:
coffee in the kitchen,
a jacket on the chair,
a laugh from another room,
someone asking if you made it home safely.

Grief reveals this brutally.

You cannot control what has happened. You cannot rewrite the final conversation. You cannot force meaning onto a tragedy that may never fully make sense.

But you can decide what kind of man grief will shape you into.

You can become smaller, harder, bitter, isolated.

Or you can become more honest.
More compassionate.
More aware of how fragile everyone around you really is.

Loss strips away illusion. It reminds us that people are not permanent fixtures in our lives. Neither are we.

So call your friends back.
Tell people you love them while they can still hear it.
Make the trip.
Take the photograph.
Sit on the porch longer.
Forgive what is small.
Pay attention to your own life before it passes unnoticed.

And if you are barely holding together right now, understand this:

You do not need to solve your grief today.
You only need to remain alive inside it.

That is enough.

Inspired by On the Shortness of Life by Seneca, adapted into a modern reflection on grief and loss.

04/27/2026

How do you want to respond to what you can’t change?

Send a message to learn more

07/07/2025

There is a list going around of therapists that want to help. This appears to be a legitimate resource. Please feel free to share with those who may be in need.
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1PL8kyEmsh/

06/30/2025

I just got back from Antigua, Guatemala. It wasn’t a big indulgent getaway — I walked a lot, kept my mornings slow (as usual), and spent a powerful day visiting community living homes for adults with disabilities. That experience left a real impact on me and put a lot into perspective.

Still, like with most travel, I loosened the reins a bit. Ate a little more freely. Had a few extra drinks. And now that I’m back, I can feel it.

So today, I’m getting back to the things that keep me grounded:

Eating real, simple meals again

Cutting back on the extra drinks

Getting back to the gym — starting now

This isn’t about guilt or “fixing” anything. It’s just about reconnecting with the routine that helps me feel like myself — clearer, stronger, and more present.

Vacations end, but the best parts don’t have to. Sometimes the real self-care is in what you carry forward — not just what you leave behind.

05/19/2025

Evening KAP Therapy Spot Available
A rare opening is coming up for evening Ketamine-Assisted Psychotherapy (KAP). I offer just one session per week, so if you’ve been waiting for the right time — this could be it.

Message me for details or to be added to the waitlist.

05/02/2025

05/01/2025

I went to a hardcore show recently—and yeah, I jumped in the pit. It was loud, raw, sweaty, and exactly what I needed. There’s something about moving with that kind of energy, letting the music take over, and just being in it. And after a few rounds of slamming around, I stepped out to catch my breath and had a thought: this is therapy.

Not in the traditional, clinical sense—but in the emotional, nervous-system-reset kind of way. Slam dancing forces you into your body. You’re not thinking about your to-do list or what someone said earlier that day. You’re just moving, reacting, feeling.

And strangely enough, even in the chaos, there’s connection. There’s an unspoken rule in the pit: if someone falls, you help them up. Everyone’s flailing, but it’s not without care. It reminded me how deeply we all need spaces where we can release, express, and reconnect.

For some people, that outlet is therapy. For others, it’s movement, music, hiking, or hitting a punching bag. Healing doesn’t always look like silence and candles. Sometimes, it’s sweat, speed, and sound.

As a therapist, I love helping people find what healing looks like for them. It might not be a mosh pit—but it might be just as loud and just as freeing.

Here’s your invitation to explore what helps you let go—and if you want support on that journey, I’m here.

In the pit and in the practice,

04/30/2025

Not everyone craves sunshine and blue skies. Some of us feel most at peace when the clouds roll in, the rain taps on the windows, and the world slows down. Gloomy days can feel like a soft pause — a gentle reminder to rest, reflect, and just be.

If you find comfort in rainy weather, you're not alone. These quieter moments can be grounding, especially for those who feel overwhelmed by constant brightness or noise. There’s nothing wrong with finding beauty in the gray — it doesn’t mean you’re sad, broken, or “too quiet.” It means you’re in tune with a different kind of peace.

Let’s normalize all kinds of emotional weather — inside and out. Sunshine has its place, but so do the clouds.

Take care of your mind, whatever the weather.

04/18/2025

Swapped out my bushings yesterday and had a thought—
bushings are a lot like psych meds.

There’s a ton of them.
Different shapes, sizes, and durometers.
What works for one setup might feel all wrong for another.

It’s not about making the ride perfect.
It’s about tuning the feel—getting just the right amount of resistance and support
so you can handle the curves, the bumps, the speed.

You’re still the one riding.
You still pick the lines.
But a dialed-in setup? That changes everything.

Psych meds can be the same.
Sometimes it takes a few tries.
But when it clicks—you know.

04/18/2025

Wheels hum on the street,
mind clears with each gentle carve
stillness in motion.

Skateboarding is meditation.
It’s focus. It’s rhythm. It’s presence.
Every push quiets the noise. Every turn brings me back to myself.

Self-care doesn’t always mean slowing down.
Sometimes it means moving with intention.