You know, it kind of sucks that somewhere along the line, “ordinary” became a dirty word.
Not ambitious enough. Not inspiring enough. Not worthy enough.
We live in a time where everyone is supposed to be building a brand, launching something, going viral, and reaching new heights. Even if you’re doing something meaningful, it can feel like you’re falling short unless it’s loud, shiny, and public.
And that belief? It’s making people quietly miserable.
If you’ve ever felt ashamed of just wanting a calm life… you’re not alone. A lot of people are grinding themselves into burnout, not because they want to, but because they’re afraid of what it would mean to stop. They’re not chasing joy. They’re running from perceived insignificance.
This pressure to “make something of yourself” isn’t just internal. It’s baked into our culture—from childhood trophies to adult hustle culture to influencers pretending their daily life is a movie. But when you believe that being ordinary makes you unlovable or unimportant, it creates a constant, low-level panic that you’re not doing enough. It’s a fear of shame.
That panic doesn’t go away when you accomplish more. It just moves the goalpost further and further.
You’re a person—not a brand, not a resume, not a performance.
It’s okay to have ambition, and it’s okay to want to live big. But if your life only feels meaningful when it’s impressive, that’s a heavy way to live. Especially when nobody around you is actually asking you to be impressive! They just want you to be present.
The irony is: when people do something truly special, it’s rarely because they were trying to be extraordinary. It’s because they were committed to something honest and real. Something that mattered to them.
And often? That something looks quiet from the outside.
This isn’t about lowering the bar. It’s about asking why the bar was so high in the first place. Do some self-analysis and see if you’re chasing something that doesn’t need to be chased:
Because sometimes the most radical thing you can do is live an ordinary life… on purpose.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
There’s a quiet hum of unease running through a lot of our lives lately. Maybe you’ve noticed it too.
It’s not just the news cycle or the next election. It’s not just inflation, climate change, AI, or whatever latest culture war is trending this week. It’s the sense that we’re standing on sand, and someone keeps shaking the foundation.
That constant undercurrent of instability? It’s not in your head—and it’s not a personal failure if you’re finding it harder to stay calm, focused, or hopeful.
We’re living in a time of deep societal disruption, and your nervous system feels it, whether or not you’re consciously thinking about it.
A lot of people come into therapy lately saying things like:
What we’re talking about isn’t just individual anxiety. It’s collective disorientation.
It’s what happens when the stories we’ve been told about safety, progress, identity, and meaning start to unravel. When the institutions we were taught to rely on start to feel hollow or dangerous. When the future stops feeling predictable and starts feeling like a question mark.
No wonder we’re stressed!
The world is loud right now. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, it might not mean you’re broken—it might mean you’re awake. You’re paying attention. And that’s not a flaw.
But awareness without grounding can feel like drowning. So how do we stay present without losing ourselves?
In therapy, we talk about anchoring—not in the sense of knowing all the right answers, but in developing the inner stability to face uncertainty with clarity and courage.
Anchors can look like:
You don’t need to solve the world’s chaos. But you can learn how to orient yourself in it.
If we’re going to be honest, the future is uncertain. That’s the truth.
But uncertainty isn’t just a threat—it’s also a doorway. Because when the old rules fall apart, we get to ask deeper questions: What really matters? What kind of life do I want to live? What kind of community do I want to help build?
There is still room for beauty, love, rebellion, creativity, and healing. Especially now.
You don’t have to numb out, or pick a side, or pretend you have it all figured out.
It’s okay to be thoughtful, cautious, and even a little scared—and still move forward with intention.
If you’re looking for a space to make sense of it all, or at least to feel a little less alone in the confusion, therapy can help.
Reach out here. We’re ready when you are.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
You’re journaling. Meditating. Exercising. Saying no more often. Going to therapy. Drinking water. Doing all the “self-care” things people are supposed to do — and somehow… you feel worse?
That dissonance can be gutting. You finally muster the strength to make a change, expecting relief. But instead, what comes up is sadness, old pain, regret, fatigue, or anxiety. And it leaves you wondering:
“Am I broken? Am I doing something wrong?”
The answer is no — and you’re not alone. Here’s what might actually be going on.
Healing often gets packaged like it’s a makeover montage: cut your hair, light a candle, read The Body Keeps the Score, and feel better. But real healing doesn’t move in a straight line — and it doesn’t always feel good.
In fact, feeling worse can be a sign you’re moving in the right direction.
Think of it like cleaning out a garage: things look worse before they get better.
When you slow down and start taking care of yourself, all the feelings you’ve been avoiding (or suppressing just to get through the day) begin to surface. That isn’t failure — it’s evidence that you’re finally safe enough to feel them.
A few common reasons people feel worse after starting therapy or committing to growth:
Sometimes just naming these dynamics is enough to take the pressure off. It doesn’t mean something’s wrong. It means you’re finally paying attention.
It’s easy to misinterpret discomfort as regression. But often, it’s part of integration — your brain and body adjusting to a new way of thinking, feeling, and behaving.
The inner critic may panic:
“You’ve done all this work and you still feel like this?”
But healing isn’t about getting to a place where you never feel pain. It’s about becoming more capable of facing pain with clarity, compassion, and support.
Instead of “I thought I was over this,” you start saying, “I can hold this now without falling apart.”
First, give yourself permission to feel disappointed. You expected relief, and now you’re confused — that makes sense.
But then, try to reframe the discomfort as growing pains, not failure.
Here’s what can help:
You don’t have to earn your healing by always feeling great. And you don’t have to fear the days when you don’t.
If this is you — if you’re doing the work and wondering why it feels so heavy — keep going. This doesn’t mean it’s not working. It means it’s real.
Healing isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about finally learning to be you — fully, gently, and with room for all the parts that once had to hide.
Reach out here. We’re ready when you are.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
There’s this creeping sense a lot of people carry — the feeling that they’re falling behind. Behind their peers, behind where they “should be,” behind some vague life timeline no one can quite name but everyone seems to feel.
It’s not always loud. Sometimes it whispers during quiet moments. Sometimes it screams during career setbacks, breakups, or endless scrolls through Instagram. But it’s there. A subtle shame. A fear that maybe you missed your shot. That everyone else got the memo and you’re still trying to figure out what day it is.
That feeling isn’t evidence you’re broken. It’s evidence that you care — deeply — about living a meaningful life.
We live in a culture that equates progress with speed, and success with visibility. But you are not a product. Your life isn’t a race. You’re a living, breathing human being with a nervous system, relationships, grief, hope, confusion, and a thousand different needs. Of course your path doesn’t look like anyone else’s.
Therapists hear this constantly:
“I thought I’d be farther by now.”
“I feel like I wasted so much time.”
“What if I’m too late?”
And the truth is: those questions don’t mean you’re behind — they mean you’re awake. You’re becoming more attuned to your values, more honest about your wants, more aware of what you’re no longer willing to settle for.
You’re not falling behind. You’re falling into yourself.
Here’s what can help:
This isn’t about toxic positivity or pretending fear doesn’t exist. It’s about not letting that fear define your self-worth.
Life isn’t a straight line. It’s a collection of turns, pauses, setbacks, and discoveries. And the fact that you’re questioning it? That’s not a weakness. That’s the beginning of wisdom.
Reach out here. We’re ready when you are.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
Let’s get something straight: laziness is almost never the real issue. When people tell me they feel “lazy,” it’s almost always a cover for something else — stress, exhaustion, executive dysfunction, depression, fear, trauma, or just plain burnout. And calling yourself lazy doesn’t make it better. It just adds shame to an already overloaded system.
We live in a world that treats rest as a reward and hyper-productivity as a moral virtue. That’s a problem. Especially when you’re someone who wants to show up fully, but can’t seem to find the energy or focus to do it.
What if “lazy” is your nervous system’s way of saying, “Please, slow down. I’m drowning here”?
Let’s talk about the mental load. Even if you’re not consciously thinking about it, your brain might be juggling dozens of invisible tasks at once — bills, emails, unreturned texts, what to make for dinner, how your partner is doing emotionally, whether you’re failing at parenting, how many notifications are on your phone…
It’s a lot.
That kind of pressure doesn’t always look like anxiety. Sometimes, it looks like scrolling your phone for an hour instead of replying to a simple email. Or sitting in your car outside your house, knowing you should go inside, but unable to move.
And if you’re feeling that, you’re not broken. You’re responding — understandably — to a life that’s become too much.
Here’s the kicker: calling yourself lazy doesn’t get you moving. It freezes you more. Shame isn’t motivating — it’s paralyzing.
Instead of asking, “Why can’t I just do this?”, try asking:
You might find that what looks like a five-minute task is sitting on top of a mountain of emotional labor. And it’s okay to take that seriously.
You don’t need a productivity overhaul. You need a little space, a little compassion, and maybe one doable action to build momentum.
Try this:
It’s not about becoming a machine. It’s about reconnecting with your own rhythm, instead of bullying yourself into productivity.
Rest is not the opposite of progress. Sometimes rest is the progress.
If you’re overwhelmed, your body and mind aren’t betraying you — they’re trying to survive. Maybe instead of asking, “How can I be more productive?” the better question is, “What would it take to feel more human right now?”
You’re allowed to go at your own pace. You’re allowed to need a break. And you’re allowed to stop calling yourself names just because the world doesn’t understand your capacity today.
Internal Link Suggestions (distributed):
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
Let’s get this out of the way:
Existential therapy is not about sitting around debating Nietzsche while stroking your beard and sipping herbal tea.
It’s not even about having the “right” answers to big questions.
It’s about how you live in the face of questions that don’t have clear answers.
Things like:
You don’t have to be a philosopher to ask those things. You just have to be human.
At its core, existential therapy is about how you make meaning in your life—and how you relate to the things you can’t control.
It’s less about symptom management and more about helping you face the reality of being alive:
You’re free. You’re responsible. You’re not going to live forever.
And you’re not given a rulebook.
That can be terrifying… or liberating… or both.
But pretending those truths don’t matter? That usually creates more suffering than facing them ever could.
Think about it:
Most of the time, people don’t come to therapy because of abstract problems.
They come because something in their life feels empty, stuck, or pointless. Or because they’re overwhelmed by a decision they can’t outsource. Or because they’re asking questions like:
“What am I even doing with my life?”
“Why do I feel so disconnected?”
“Is this all there is?”
Existential therapy doesn’t hand you a list of affirmations and tell you to “stay positive.”
It meets you where you are and says:
Let’s be honest about the hard stuff—and let’s find a way to live more fully anyway.
Most existential therapists work with four basic realities that every human faces:
These are heavy topics, yes. But they’re also the doorway to clarity, presence, and purpose—if you’re brave enough to look.
You’re not going to be handed a textbook. You’re going to be asked questions like:
Existential therapy helps you tune into your own voice, your own values, your own sense of what it means to be alive. And then—step by step—it helps you actually live like it matters.
You don’t have to love Kierkegaard or read Camus to benefit from this work.
You just have to be someone who’s been cracked open by life in some way—grief, burnout, betrayal, aging, change—and wants to find something real on the other side of it.
If you’re feeling unmoored lately, it doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It might just mean you’re ready for a more honest kind of life.
And that’s where this work begins.
At Sandstone Therapy, we don’t rush past the hard questions. We don’t try to fix you—we try to walk with you as you figure out what matters most and how you want to live.
It’s not about finding the right answers.
It’s about asking the right questions—and being brave enough to live into them.
Reach out here. We’re ready when you are.
“I understand why I do it… so why can’t I stop?”
If you’ve ever said that in or out of therapy, you’re not alone. A lot of people come into therapy thinking the goal is to understand themselves. And don’t get us wrong—self-awareness is huge. Understanding where your patterns come from, why certain things trigger you, how your past shaped your present? That’s powerful stuff.
But insight alone doesn’t change your life.
Action does.
And one of the most frustrating parts of growth is realizing that knowing better doesn’t automatically mean doing better.
When you have a breakthrough—realizing, for instance, that your people-pleasing comes from childhood survival strategies—it feels like progress. And it is. Finally, something makes sense.
The brain loves that. It loves naming things. It feels in control.
But then you go back to work, someone asks you to do something unreasonable, and you say yes before you even think about it. And afterward, you’re left wondering: Did that insight even matter?
The answer is: yes… but it’s only part of the work.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth:
Insight doesn’t erase your nervous system’s habits.
It doesn’t rewrite your muscle memory.
It doesn’t override years of reinforcement overnight.
That takes repetition. Practice. Support. Willingness to feel discomfort on purpose—because that’s what growth demands.
And therapy is one of the only places designed to hold that kind of discomfort gently, without judgment. We don’t just help you understand what’s going on. We help you build the muscles to live differently.
You don’t just say, “I have an anxious attachment style.”
You practice what it’s like to pause before the 12th check-in text.
You sit in the discomfort of not reaching out—and learn that you survive it.
You don’t just realize, “My perfectionism comes from fear.”
You test what happens when you send the email without rereading it four times.
You learn that your worth isn’t determined by your flawlessness.
Therapy becomes less about insight for its own sake, and more about translating insight into action—one small, brave step at a time.
You will repeat patterns. You’ll know better and still fall into old habits sometimes. That doesn’t mean therapy isn’t working. It means you’re human.
Progress often looks like:
And over time, those small shifts become your new baseline. Not because you learned a magic trick—but because you practiced a new way of being, one uncomfortable rep at a time.
At Sandstone Therapy, we believe therapy should lead somewhere. Not to perfection. But to more freedom, more clarity, more choice.
If you already know what’s not working, and you’re tired of just understanding it—we can help you start doing something different.
You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to be willing to move.
Reach out here. Let’s take the next step together.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
You’re the one who shows up. Who gets it done. Who keeps the family, business, or team running even when no one else seems to notice the load you carry.
And because you’re good at it, people assume you’re fine.
Maybe you assume that too—until the cracks start showing.
Not in dramatic breakdowns.
In subtle ways: the sleep that doesn’t feel restful, the constant background hum of anxiety, the creeping irritability, the loss of interest in things you used to love.
But instead of slowing down, you double down. Because rest feels indulgent. Therapy feels like something other people need. And prioritizing your mental health? That feels like a luxury you haven’t earned yet.
If you’re a high achiever, chances are you internalized one or more of these ideas:
These beliefs don’t come out of nowhere. They’re learned through family systems, work cultures, academic pressure, and the subtle praise we get for being selfless (read: self-neglecting).
They make mental health feel like dessert after the hard work — instead of the plate the whole meal rests on.
When mental health is treated like a bonus instead of a baseline, here’s what often happens:
You keep functioning… until you don’t.
You keep performing… until your body revolts.
You keep saying “I’m fine”… until the silence of burnout gets louder than your ability to fake it.
And the worst part? High-functioning people are often the last to be taken seriously when they do ask for help — because everyone’s so used to them keeping it together.
Here’s the reframe:
Mental health isn’t a luxury or a sign of weakness.
It’s a form of leadership. A tool for sustainability. A way to protect not just yourself, but the people who rely on you.
You’re allowed to want more than survival.
You’re allowed to get support before things fall apart.
You’re allowed to stop just managing and start healing.
And if you don’t know where to begin, that’s okay. You don’t need a crisis to start therapy. You don’t need the perfect language or a polished backstory.
You just need to be tired of carrying it alone.
People who seem fine on paper but feel frayed on the inside.
People who are done pretending that success cancels out suffering.
People who are ready for care that meets them with honesty, depth, and no judgment.
Your mental health isn’t selfish. It’s not secondary. It’s not optional.
It’s the ground you build your whole damn life on. Treat it that way.
Reach out here. We’re ready when you are.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
Let’s get one thing out of the way:
Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, or ACT (pronounced ‘act’, not A-C-T) — isn’t just a set of tools for managing anxiety or depression. It’s a quiet, grounded rebellion.
Not the kind with protest signs. The kind that happens internally, in the privacy of your own mind, when you stop trying to fix every uncomfortable emotion and start choosing to live your values anyway.
ACT doesn’t ask, “How do I get rid of this?”
It asks, “Can I carry this, and still choose what matters?” That’s not just a therapy model. That’s a revolution — especially in a culture obsessed with constant improvement, emotional control, and polished appearances.
You don’t have to think you’re perfect to be a perfectionist. Most perfectionists live with a constant hum of self-criticism, not self-confidence.
They overanalyze every decision, avoid doing things unless they can do them “right,” feel like any mistake is a reflection of their worth, and tie their value to performance, productivity, or image.
ACT challenges that whole setup. Because instead of asking you to perform better, it invites you to show up as you are — fully human, flawed, and still capable of building a meaningful life.
1. Acceptance Over Avoidance
Perfectionism says: Avoid the hard stuff so no one sees your cracks.
ACT says: The hard stuff is part of the deal. Let’s make room for it.
You don’t have to like anxiety, grief, or shame. But when you stop fighting them, you free up energy to actually move forward.
2. Values Over Control
Perfectionism says: Stay in control at all costs.
ACT says: You can’t control every emotion, but you can control what you stand for.
You might feel anxious and still show up to that vulnerable conversation.
You might feel self-doubt and still take the creative risk.
That’s not failure. That’s courage.
3. Present Moment Awareness Over Outcome Obsession
Perfectionism says: The goal is to win.
ACT says: The goal is to be here. Awake. Alive. Connected.
You don’t have to wait until things are “fixed” to live meaningfully. You get to choose that now — even in the mess.
Some people hear all this and think it sounds like giving up or settling. But ACT isn’t about doing less — it’s about doing what matters most, even when perfection isn’t possible.
Because let’s be honest: perfection was never the point.
Connection was. Meaning was. Integrity was.
ACT helps you shift from asking:
That question changes everything.
Let’s say you’re terrified of failing — so you procrastinate on a job application.
ACT wouldn’t tell you to just “think positive.”
It would help you:
That’s real courage. And it doesn’t look clean. It looks like showing up imperfectly and still taking steps toward what matters.
If you’re tired of measuring your worth by how flawless you are, ACT might feel like a breath of fresh air. It doesn’t erase your struggles — it teaches you how to carry them differently.
At Sandstone Therapy, we work with clients who are ready to stop chasing perfection and start creating lives that reflect their deepest values.
You don’t need to be fearless. You just need to be willing.
Reach out here. We’ll help you find your footing.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned a dangerous idea:
That we can’t rest until everything is handled.
That peace is the reward you get after every problem is solved.
That calm is only allowed once the inbox is empty, the relationships are smooth, and your brain finally shuts up.
Spoiler: that moment doesn’t come.
Not in full. Not for long.
And if you’re waiting for life to stop being complicated before you feel okay, you might be waiting forever.
There’s a reason this mindset is so common. If you grew up:
…then it makes sense that you’d associate safety with control. And that you’d believe peace is something to earn — by staying ahead, staying alert, and staying productive.
But peace isn’t earned.
It’s allowed.
And sometimes the most radical thing you can do is stop trying to fix what isn’t fixable — and still choose calm.
We won’t use the word “broken,” because you asked me not to. But let’s name something:
A lot of people walk into therapy asking, “What’s wrong with me?”
And often, the answer is: nothing. You’re just human. You’re overwhelmed, maybe exhausted, maybe stuck — but you’re not a puzzle that needs to be solved.
And peace doesn’t always come from dissecting every issue in your life.
Sometimes it comes from learning how to live well with them.
No, you can’t control everything. But here’s what you can do today:
1. Find the pressure point.
What’s one thing you keep telling yourself you have to fix? Can you loosen your grip on it, just a little?
2. Let one thing be unresolved.
The unanswered email. The family tension. The lingering “what am I doing with my life” spiral. Let one of them breathe without your constant management.
3. Anchor into presence.
Instead of solving, come back to sensing: the way your feet hit the ground, the sound of the dog sighing on the couch, the feel of water over your hands.
4. Let peace be messy.
You don’t need a tidy life to feel calm. You just need permission to be here — in the middle of it — and to let that be enough for now.
This doesn’t mean you give up on goals or stop growing. It means you stop tying your right to rest to a finished to-do list.
You stop assuming that discomfort means something’s gone wrong.
You stop waiting for the absence of pain to grant you permission to exhale.
You begin, instead, to build a life where peace is possible — even when some things are still unresolved.
At Sandstone Therapy, we help people who are tired of grinding for relief. Who’ve done the self-help and the podcasts and the mental gymnastics — and are ready for something different.
You don’t have to fix it all. You just have to show up.
Reach out here. We’ll meet you there.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC
There’s a kind of silence that creeps in when you’re feeling lost.
You might look fine on the outside — answering emails, feeding the cat, nodding at meetings — but something inside is off. Disconnected. Directionless. Like you misplaced the plot of your own story and can’t remember where you left it.
And if you’re like most people, your next thought is, “What’s wrong with me?”
But here’s the truth:
There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not broken. You’re just in a deeply human moment.
We’re taught to treat confusion like a crisis — something to fix, fast. But feeling lost often shows up for good reasons:
This isn’t dysfunction. It’s a transition. And transitions are messy. They don’t come with maps — just instincts and slow realizations.
There’s a whole industry built on certainty. Vision boards. Five-year plans. “Find your purpose” podcasts. And while there’s nothing wrong with dreaming big, it creates a myth: that successful, healthy people always know what they’re doing.
That’s not real life.
Even the most grounded people have foggy seasons. Doubt-filled days. Nights when they lie awake thinking, “Is this it?”
If you’re lost right now, you’re in good company. The question isn’t “How do I snap out of this?” — it’s “What is this season trying to tell me?”
1. Stop Trying to Force Answers
Sometimes clarity only comes after you stop pushing. Give yourself permission not to know. That’s not laziness — that’s presence.
2. Focus on What Grounds You
You may not have a roadmap, but you still have anchors. What helps you feel even 2% more like yourself? Movement, quiet, music, trees, journaling? Start there.
3. Get Curious About Your Restlessness
Instead of spiraling into “I’m a mess,” ask: “What’s shifted? What used to fit that doesn’t anymore?”
4. Let Go of the Timeline
There’s no prize for figuring it out faster. Most growth happens underground, quietly, where no one claps for it — until it bursts through later with new shape and strength.
5. Talk It Out
You don’t need to have a thesis to come to therapy. You don’t even need a clear goal. Sometimes you just need someone to sit with you in the fog without trying to rush the sunrise.
When you stop seeing “lost” as a failure and start seeing it as in between, things get softer. Less urgent. You begin to realize that this isn’t the end of the story — it’s a necessary pause in the middle.
And sometimes, in those quiet middle chapters, you learn the most about who you are.
At Sandstone Therapy, we don’t pathologize your confusion. We help you get curious about it. Because often, the question isn’t “What’s wrong with me?” — it’s “What’s waiting to emerge?”
Reach out here. You don’t need to have it figured out to start the conversation.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC

There’s a moment—maybe in the shower, maybe scrolling LinkedIn—when a heavy thought drops: “I’m falling behind.”
Behind your friends, behind your goals, behind the version of yourself who was supposed to have everything figured out by now.
It feels like failure, but most of the time it’s something else: a mix of unrealistic expectations, invisible comparisons, and a brain wired to notice danger (including the danger of not measuring up).
1. Name The Narrative
Instead of “I’m failing,” try “My brain is running the failure story.” Language matters; it separates you from the thought and creates space to respond, not just react.
2. Audit Your Yardsticks
Ask, “Whose definition of success am I using?” Your parents’? Influencers’? A 22-year-old version of you with different circumstances? Update the metrics to fit this season of your life.
3. Reclaim Small Wins
The perfectionist lens zooms so far out you miss daily progress. Track things that seldom make to-do lists—answering a hard email, feeding yourself real food, saying no when you wanted to people-please. Momentum grows from evidence, not judgment.
4. Practice Self-Compassion, Not Self-Esteem
Self-esteem says, “I’m valuable because I succeed.” Self-compassion says, “I’m valuable, full stop—even when I stumble.” Research shows self-compassion predicts resilience far better than inflated self-esteem.
5. Locate Your Values, Not Just Your Goals
Goals are destinations; values are the compass. When the road detours, values still point north. Ask, “What matters about this goal?”—connection, creativity, stability? Then look for any action that honors that value today.
6. Get Curious With Support
Sometimes the narrative is too loud to untangle alone. Therapy offers a place to explore where the failure story began and practice kinder ways of relating to it.
Tiny, value-based actions chip away at the illusion that everything hinges on monumental success.
Feeling like a failure usually means you care deeply. The goal isn’t to stop caring—it’s to care in ways that replenish rather than deplete you. Success can look like setting boundaries, resting without guilt, or asking for help before crisis hits.
At Sandstone Therapy, we help high achievers, chronic self-doubters, and everyday humans rewrite painful narratives into grounded, workable truths. If you’re tired of measuring your worth by impossible standards, reach out here. Let’s discover what thriving—your way—actually looks like.
A lot of people come to therapy thinking they’re broken. They say things like:
“I just want to fix this.”
“Something’s wrong with me.”
“Why can’t I just be normal?”
That pressure to be “fixed” — to reach some imaginary version of yourself where nothing hurts and nothing’s messy — is exhausting. And it’s based on a lie.
You are not a malfunctioning machine. You’re a human being. And the goal isn’t to fix you — it’s to understand you.
We live in a culture obsessed with self-improvement. Productivity hacks. Clean eating. Five-step life-changing morning routines. There’s always something you should be doing to become better, calmer, happier, more “together.”
And if you’re struggling, the world often responds with:
Even therapy can get twisted into another place to perform or produce results. But real growth doesn’t come from squeezing yourself into a better shape. It comes from finally understanding why you feel the way you do — and treating that part of you with some damn compassion.
Let’s say you avoid conflict like the plague. Maybe you freeze up or shut down when someone’s upset. You could label that as dysfunctional — or you could recognize that your nervous system learned this response for a reason.
Or maybe you overachieve like your life depends on it. You’re burning out, but you can’t stop. That might not be a flaw — it might be a survival strategy that started when you equated love with performance.
When you look closer, most of your “problems” aren’t random. They’re patterns. Adaptations. Stories you’ve internalized in order to cope.
Understanding them doesn’t excuse harmful behavior. But it does allow for self-respect. It opens the door to change that’s rooted in awareness instead of shame.
Understanding yourself means you start asking different questions:
These questions lead to growth that’s sustainable. Because it’s not about conquering your feelings — it’s about relating to them differently.
In therapy, you don’t need to perform. You don’t need to prove anything. You don’t need to come in with a plan.
You just need to show up as you are. The rest — the insight, the shift, the relief — comes from doing the work of understanding your own story with someone who knows how to hold it.
And from there, real change becomes possible. Not because you finally fixed yourself, but because you stopped fighting yourself long enough to listen.
If you’re tired of chasing fixes and just want a space to breathe, process, and make sense of your experience, we’re here for that. At Sandstone Therapy, we don’t treat you like a problem to solve. We treat you like a person worth understanding.
Reach out today. You don’t have to figure it out alone.
Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC