Coming Undone (On Purpose)

What happens when a psychologist stops performing wellness and starts telling the truth.

For the past year, I’ve been writing a book. It’s a memoir—but also something more. A confession. A reckoning. A roadmap, hopefully, for anyone who’s ever looked fine on the outside while quietly falling apart.

The book is complete, but the story isn’t done. Still, I’m ready to start sharing pieces of it—slowly, honestly, and in a way that feels true to both my story and the part of me still learning to tell it.

Here’s the plan:

Over the next several months, I’ll be posting 16 chapter summaries from the book. These aren’t full chapters. They’re more like windows—glimpses into the narrative arc: the unraveling, the parts, the grief, the healing.

I’ll share one summary every other week. In the in-between weeks, I’ll post short reflections: thoughts on the writing process, or what it’s like to live and work as a therapist still in her own becoming. I may write about shame. Or perfectionism. Or parenting. Or grief. Or parts. Or the risks—and rewards—of being seen.

Why chapter summaries?

Because they give shape without giving everything. Because I’m still learning how to write from both sides of the therapy room—with honesty, but also integrity. And maybe more truthfully: because I need to do this one slow step at a time.

It’s taken me thirty years to be honest—even with myself. So bear with me as I learn to extend that honesty to you.

Over time, these posts will trace the arc of the book: from childhood coping to professional success, through the plane crash that shattered my family, to my teenage son’s unraveling, and the relapse that forced me to reckon with all the parts I’d spent years trying to manage or hide.

Here’s where we’ll start:

Prologue – The Unraveling Begins

Before the story begins, I confront the most uncomfortable part of this project: telling the truth. As a clinical psychologist, I know how to write clearly and professionally—but writing this book, about myself, feels raw and disorienting.

I open by naming the internal resistance: the fear, the impulse to hide, the lifelong habit of telling people what they want to hear. What I want them to hear. Especially the people I love most.

This prologue sets the tone for the memoir’s central promise: radical honesty. I reflect on how I’ve deceived others—and myself—for decades, and why it’s time to stop.

Through the lens of Internal Family Systems (IFS), I introduce the journey ahead: an exploration of the parts I’ve long hidden, and the healing that only became possible when I began to understand and care for those parts.

This is where the unraveling begins—and where the story truly starts.

If you’d like to follow along, subscribe below. This space will be gentle, real, and a little raw.

The next post will be a reflection, followed by Chapter 1: The Outside – Surface Me.

Thanks for being here.
See you next week.