05/23/2026
This morning I read an article about the Roman God Janus. There is something deeply meaningful to me about Janus and the work I do.
Not because I see myself as mystical or prophetic, but because so much of my work happens at thresholds.
People rarely come to hypnotherapy when life feels settled and clear. They arrive standing in the doorway between who they were forced to become and who they may become if healing finally begins. Part of them is still facing the past — the grief, conditioning, survival patterns, responsibilities, fear, exhaustion, old identities. Another part is quietly facing forward, wondering if a different life is possible.
That is the space Janus governs.
The older I get, the more I understand that transformation is not sudden magic. It is crossing. It is standing honestly between two versions of yourself long enough for something real to shift.
In many ways, that is exactly what hypnosis feels like to me.
Not escape.
Not fantasy.
Not losing control.
A guided crossing.
A quiet doorway where someone can safely look backward without becoming trapped there, while still beginning to orient toward the future.
Janus was the guardian of gates, transitions, passages, and time itself. Before any journey or ceremony, he was honored first because the Romans understood something profound: nothing new begins without first passing through a threshold.
I think that is true psychologically too.
Healing asks something of us. Growth asks something of us. Even truth asks something of us.
There is always a moment where one face mourns what has been, while the other slowly turns toward what might still become possible.
I think that is why the symbolism resonates with me so deeply.
My work has never really been about "fixing" people. It has been about helping them navigate the crossing with honesty, awareness, and enough safety to move forward without abandoning themselves in the process.
And maybe that is why images of clocks, spirals, timelines, doors, rabbit holes, lanterns, and pathways continue appearing around me and within my work.
Not because they are fantasy.
But because they are the language of transition.