Therapy for Mamas

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Camarillo, CA
Therapy for Mamas

I help parents navigate infertility, pregnancy and infant loss, trauma, grief, and the profound transformation of parenthood.

Compassionate, evidence based care rooted in meaning, healing, and human connection.

10/15/2026

I don’t typically organize my work, or much of what I share here, around awareness days. I’ve always been more interested in what recognition looks like in the everyday: in the conversations we have, the care we offer, the assumptions we question, and the space we make for experiences that are too often left unspoken.

But October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, and I’ve been thinking about why that recognition matters.

My daughter Sloane was stillborn. I don’t need a designated day to remember her, but I understand the importance of a day that invites other people to remember, too.

One of the more isolating experiences of reproductive grief is discovering how quickly a loss can disappear from the world around you while remaining an enduring part of your own life. The questions stop. Your baby’s name comes up less often. People become increasingly uncertain about whether they should mention what happened, and silence gradually takes the place of acknowledgment.

In my work as a therapist, I see how much it matters when parents are given room to speak about their babies without having to manage someone else’s discomfort. When their grief isn’t measured against a timeline. When their motherhood or parenthood isn’t treated as something that ended when their baby died.

I think awareness is valuable when it changes the way we show up for people beyond the day itself.

So today, I’m remembering Sloane, and I’m holding space for all the babies whose lives continue to matter profoundly to the people who love them.

If you’d like to share your baby’s name in the comments, I’d be honored to know it. 🤎

10/15/2026

We talk a lot about losing ourselves in motherhood, as though there is a fully intact version of us waiting somewhere on the other side of the sleepless nights, the identity shifts, and the years spent being needed.

But becoming a mother is not simply the addition of another role. It is a developmental transition that can fundamentally reorganize our relationship with ourselves and the world around us.

There is a name for this: matrescence.

Like adolescence, matrescence involves profound psychological, physical, social, and relational change. The person you were before motherhood doesn’t simply disappear, but she may no longer fit neatly into the life you’re living. Your priorities may shift. Your relationships may change. Things you once tolerated may become unbearable. Parts of yourself you thought were essential may matter less, while needs you barely recognized before become impossible to ignore.

And there can be grief in that, even when motherhood is deeply wanted.

I think we do mothers a disservice when we frame every identity struggle as something to recover from. When we promise that eventually they’ll feel like their old selves again, we make the person they used to be the measure of whether they’re doing okay.

But development changes us. That’s part of what makes it development.

Maybe the question isn’t how to get back to the woman you were before motherhood, but how to make room for the woman you’re becoming, including the parts of her you haven’t quite figured out yet.

You are not failing to find yourself. You may be in the middle of becoming someone new.

09/03/2026

Women’s anger does not invalidate men’s anger.

Men can be lonely.
Men can be hurting.
Men can be failed by systems, relationships, expectations, and culture too.

That can all be true.

And none of it requires women to stop talking about what is happening to us.

A conversation about women’s anger is not a declaration that men are never angry, never harmed, or never deserving of care.

It is simply a conversation about women.

We have gotten strangely uncomfortable with allowing one group’s pain to exist without immediately introducing another group’s pain as a counterweight.

But suffering is not a competition.

Men do not become less worthy of compassion because women name misogyny.

And women do not become less entitled to anger because men are struggling too.

Both things can be true without one being used to silence the other.

I want men to have places where their anger, grief, loneliness, trauma, and pain can be taken seriously.

And I want women to be able to talk about ours without being told that doing so is somehow an attack on men.

Those are not opposing positions.

Compassion is not a finite resource.

But neither is attention.

And sometimes, when women are speaking about women, the most respectful thing we can do is actually let the conversation remain there.

09/02/2026

We talk a lot about what women should do with their anger.

Regulate it.
Manage it.
Breathe through it.
Make sure it doesn’t spill onto the people we love.

And yes, that matters.

But we talk far less about where women are actually allowed to put it.

Especially mothers.

When anger feels incompatible with being a “good mother,” it doesn’t necessarily disappear. We swallow it. Minimize it. Turn it inward. Call ourselves ungrateful, difficult, overwhelmed, too sensitive.

Until eventually, something has to hold everything we’ve been holding.

Sometimes that looks like resentment. Sometimes shame. Sometimes withdrawal. Sometimes an explosion over something that was never really the problem.

Anger needs somewhere to go.

Not onto our children.
Not onto our partners.
Not onto ourselves.

But somewhere.

Somewhere it can be named without being judged. Felt without becoming destructive. Understood without immediately being managed away.

Maybe the question isn’t only how we help mothers regulate their anger.

Maybe we should also be asking why so many mothers have nowhere safe to put it.

08/27/2026

Just doing mom things, wearing mom jeans. 🤘🏼

08/26/2026

We’re often taught to treat anger like a problem to solve.

Calm down.
Let it go.
Don’t overreact.
Try to see the other person’s perspective.

But anger is information.

It can tell us that a boundary has been crossed. That something feels unfair. That we’re carrying too much. That our needs have gone unmet for so long we’ve stopped recognizing them as needs.

Sometimes the question isn’t, How do I stop being so angry?

It’s:

What keeps happening that makes anger necessary?

Your anger doesn’t always need to be obeyed. But it deserves to be listened to.

Part 3 coming next.

08/22/2026

Sometimes anger is the top layer.

Underneath it might be exhaustion. Overstimulation. Resentment. Grief. Fear. Powerlessness. The feeling that you have asked for help twelve different ways and somehow nothing has actually changed.

And sometimes, underneath the anger, there is… anger.

Not every angry feeling needs to be translated into something softer or more socially acceptable before we take it seriously.

The goal isn’t to shame it, suppress it, or let it run the show.

It’s to get curious about what it’s responding to.

What has become unsustainable?
What boundary keeps getting crossed?
What need has gone unmet for too long?
What are you carrying that was never supposed to be yours alone?

Anger is information.

And learning to understand it can tell us a lot about what needs care, support, or change.

Address

333 N Lantana
Camarillo, CA
93010

Website

https://www.therapyformamas.com/

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