Blog for
Chris Lauzon - Therapist, LICSW

When we think about a healthy relationship, many of us picture closeness: shared time, shared experiences, shared goals. Partnership certainly includes those things, yet one of the most important ingredients of a truly healthy relationship is something that may seem counterintuitive at first; individual growth.

In many of my previous posts, we’ve talked about the importance of self-awareness, recognizing our needs, and learning to pause before we react. When we do this well, we give ourselves the opportunity to choose intention rather than simply operating on emotional autopilot. But, let’s be honest, even when we know the tools, certain environments can still catch us off guard. Here is a tool for this, I call it The Visual Mantra.

Open your spice rack. Notice what’s there. Not just the garlic powder and sea salt, but the jars tied to chapters of your life. The cumin from the relationship where you learned to cook for two. The chili flakes from the season of intensity. The specialty blend you bought because they liked it. Some of those spices are years old. If you unscrew the lid, the aroma is faint. The color is dull. The potency is gone, yet we keep them.

We are often encouraged to “take the wheel,” to lead, to be independent, to trust no one but ourselves. There is wisdom in that message, especially if your history includes trauma and loss, disappointment, betrayal, or the painful realization that not everyone who offered directions had your destination in mind. But, there is another truth that deserves equal space, it is sometimes OK to be a passenger.

It’s rarely spoken that plainly, of course. More often it arrives dressed differently, polished, casual, or defensive: “You’re in a bad mood.” “You’re overreacting.” “You’re taking that too personally.” “You’re being difficult.” “You’re always such a downer.” These statements show up everywhere, not just in romantic partnerships, but among friends, family members, colleagues, and even passing acquaintances. They often land as conclusions rather than invitations.

Motivation “A” might involve adjusting a sleep schedule, working toward weight loss, reevaluating substance use (cannabis, caffeine, alcohol), improving diet, reconsidering social circles, or intentionally engaging in activities that promote connection rather than isolation. The specifics vary, but the origin is similar: an external pressure, expectation, or consequence prompting movement.

“Comparison is the thief of joy” is one of those phrases that sounds unquestionably wise. It’s well intended, even protective. For many people, especially those already carrying shame, self doubt, or a harsh internal dialogue it can be a helpful reminder to return attention inward. But, like most aphorisms, it becomes less helpful when we treat it as an absolute.

The image says what many of us feel but rarely slow down enough to name. We live in an age of constant access, news alerts, social feeds, opinion threads, breaking headlines, hot takes, and outrage cycles. None of it is inherently wrong; we are free: to believe, to speak, to vote, to worship, to dissent, and these freedoms matter.

So much of our emotional energy gets spent managing how we are perceived: what they think, how we “come across” to others, whether we said the ‘right’ thing. It’s understandable, we’re wired for connection, but when we orient our inner world around external judgment, we slowly lose touch with ourselves. What you think about yourself matters far more than what they think about you.

Most individuals are taught that growth should be decisive, consistent, and flawless; if a person is going to change, they should do it “all the way,” if they are going to care for themselves, they should “do it right,” and, if they are going to meet their needs, they should do it “always.” YET, that very mindset often becomes the thing that keeps us stuck. If you’re in a mindset of exploring your needs, especially after stress, loss, burnout, or transition, I want to gently

When a relationship ends whether you made the decision or the choice was made for you, you’re often left standing in the quiet aftermath, surrounded by emotions that feel heavy, tangled, and confusing. Grief. Loss. Sadness. Anxiety. Fear. Anger. Shame. Guilt. Not everyone experiences all of these, but most folks experience some combination, and when they do, it can feel as though they’ve been placed inside a box: a confined emotional space where movement feels restricted and

I’ve long held the opinion that when someone adds, “just kidding” or “just joking” after a comment, there is often some percentage of truth tucked within it. Not always, of course sometimes humor is just humor, play is just play. But many times, I’d estimate there’s about 40% truth living behind the curtain of the joke. Humor can be a safe doorway, a way to say something honest without risking full vulnerability. But it can also be a mask that bruises others.

Have you ever looked at your relationship and thought, “We’re both here… but I still feel lost”? Like you’re in the same harbor, but somehow you can’t quite see each other clearly? I call this the Relationship Fog. It’s that hazy place where you still care, still want to be close, but communication feels clumsy, misunderstood, or distant, where you’re trying to navigate connection, yet something old and familiar is steering your wheel instead. Let’s talk about it.

The shift from summer to fall is beautiful in many ways, but it can also be deceptively draining. The end of summer vacations, less time with friends and family, shorter days, diminishing sunlight (and vitamin D), the start of the school year, the return of colder weather, and the looming weight of major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas; all arrive at once. Add to that the closing of another calendar year, and suddenly, what once felt abundant and energizing begins to

Oftentimes our Old Mental Muscle (trying to protect us) pushes us to ‘feel’ responsible for others. Long-standing friendships, familial ties, or ingrained relational patterns can create the sense that we must hold things together, smooth over conflict, or carry the emotional weight of the group. But here is the truth: there is a profound difference between ‘feeling’ responsible and ‘being’ responsible; who pays the tool?

Living with ADHD as an adult is often framed as a challenge, even a deficit. But what if we flipped the script? What if ADHD isn’t just something to “manage,” but a superpower to harness?

When a relationship ends, or even when we begin to fear that it might we can find ourselves in a deeply emotional space that feels startlingly similar to the grief of losing a loved one to death. It is a death in its own right: the death of shared moments, of intimacy, of dreams once nurtured together.

Imagine standing on the stage of your own mind, and a voice calls out: “Let’s make a deal!” Here’s the offer: You commit to staying 80% in the present, and only 20% in the past or future. Not as a punishment. Not as a restriction. But as a gift to your present self, the only “you” that can act, change, breathe, and respond. Let’s break this deal down.

When people walk into a therapy room, it’s often in response to something urgent, an emotional crisis, a relationship breakdown, burnout, or a significant drop in their overall functioning. It’s natural. Pain is a powerful motivator. But while we spend so much time focusing on how to tread water when we’re drowning, we often forget that true, sustainable growth happens not during the chaos, but during the calm. Let’s call that calm your baseline.

Picture this: an old crosscut hand saw, lying on its back. The flat spine rests against the table, and the jagged edge, the teeth, points upward at an angle. Imagine tracing your finger along those teeth from one end of the saw to the other. It's not a smooth line. It's not soft or easy. It's jagged. Sharp. Uneven. Yet undeniably, the motion is angled up. This, in many ways, is the visual metaphor of our journey through mental health and well-being.