Trixie Hennessey for Optimum Family Wellness

Trixie Hennessey for Optimum Family Wellness Trixie is a Registered Mental Health Therapist

Trixie Hennessey is a Registered Therapist and Advanced Emotion Focused Family Therapist.
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She has received post Masters training in Neurosequential Therapy, Narrative Therapy and Emotion Focused Family Therapy and her clinical training has been focused on evidence-based attachment and interpersonal neurobiology techniques to treat a range of symptoms and challenges. To schedule a consultation, or to learn more about me please contact me at:

www.trixiehennesseycounselling.com
email trixiehennesseycounselling@gmail.com
phone 778.888.5735

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loss drags us into an unscheduled studio and hands us the torn fabric.no pattern.no teacher.just a loom made of nerve en...
01/17/2026

loss drags us into an unscheduled studio
and hands us the torn fabric.
no pattern.
no teacher.
just a loom made of nerve endings
and a pile of threads that used to be a life.
we don’t restore
we remix.
we burn the old blueprint,
stitch with wire and honey,
let the rips stay visible
so the light can get in.
we learn to weave with absence,
to make negative space part of the design
to let memory be a colour
and not a cage.
this isn’t pretty work
it’s feral craft.
calloused palms
softer spine
we stop pretending wholeness
means “as it was”
and start composing a narrative
where ache and awe share a sentence.
not erasing,
integrating.
not moving on
moving with
until the fabric holds
and somehow, so do we.

to my clients, friends & family if december has you feeling split in twoone part wanting twinkle lights and cinnamonand ...
12/20/2025

to my clients, friends & family

if december has you feeling split in two
one part wanting twinkle lights and cinnamon
and the soft hum of “we made it,”
and the other part feeling heavy
tender, or quietly undone
you’re not behind.
you’re human.

this season can be beautiful.
and it can also be brutal.
it can bring homecomings
and empty chairs in the same breath
it can ask us to be merry and bright
when our nervous systems are simply
trying to make it to tomorrow.

i am here
to remind you
you don’t have to perform joy to be worthy of love.
you don’t have to sparkle to belong.

if all you can do right now
is keep your head above water
i’m proud of you.
if you’re grieving,
if you’re lonely in a crowded room,
if you’re healing from a year
that asked too much
if you’re learning how to breathe again
i see you.
and i’m holding you
with the kind of gentleness
that doesn’t demand a smile to be valid.

i also want to say thank you.

thank you for the trust
the honesty
the courage
the messy truth.
thank you for letting our relationship be real
whether we’ve shared therapy space
or life space
whether we’ve spoken often
or simply carried each other quietly through seasons
these relationships matter to me
deeply.

i’m feeling especially grateful for my family
my people
my home base
my reminder that love is both ordinary and sacred
i’m also grateful for my growing capacity
to remain soft when things are hard
to keep my heart open
even when it would be easier to armor up
it’s not always perfect
but it’s real
and it’s changing me.

so here’s my christmas wish for you

may you find small moments that feel like exhale.
may you be met with kindness (including your own).
may you release what was never yours to carry
may you let “good enough” be a holy thing.
may you be held by community
by memory, by meaning, by grace
however that arrives for you.

and if christmas doesn’t feel like warmth this year
may you be allowed to make your own version of light
even if it’s just a single candle
even if it’s just getting through the day
with your tenderness intact.

you’ve got this & I’ve got you
Trixie

authenticity isn’t a brandit’s an uprising.the world teaches you to sand down your edges,rehearse your lines,ask permiss...
12/03/2025

authenticity isn’t a brand
it’s an uprising.
the world teaches you to sand down your edges,
rehearse your lines,
ask permission to exist.
say no.
keep the edges.
keep the octave of your real voice.
your truth won’t sound tidy
it will rattle doors,
disrupt rooms,
cost you certain audiences.
let it.
conformity keeps you safe;
it also keeps you small.
refuse the costume.
be the story that doesn’t translate,
the colour that won’t mute,
the risk that feels like oxygen
if it doesn’t fit your nervous system
it isn’t your path.
being yourself is the loudest thing you can do,
and the quietest peace you’ll ever know.

you don’t earn healing by becoming palatable.you will still misread a room,still snap,still cry on the bathroom floor at...
12/03/2025

you don’t earn healing by becoming palatable.
you will still misread a room,
still snap,
still cry on the bathroom floor at 1:37am
and call it progress
because you didn’t ghost yourself this time.
calm is not your report card
compliance is not your cure.
let your nervous system be loud,
let your grief be inconvenient,
let your joy spill without a lid.
you don’t need fixing
you need a field with no fences,
a door you don’t have to knock on,
a body that’s allowed to tremble
and still belong.
measure the work by how quickly you come back
to yourself after the storm,
not by how pretty you weather it.

there are loves that ask to be carriedand loves that ask to be namedand set back in the river.this wasn’t a failure it w...
11/14/2025

there are loves that ask to be carried
and loves that ask to be named
and set back in the river.
this wasn’t a failure it was a tide.
we learned the shoreline of each other,
and then the water told the truth
my mouth wouldn’t
to keep holding would be to drown.
so i chose a different kind of staying
the kind where i don’t abandon myself.
i kept the music, not the room.
i blessed the doorframe on my way out.
some bonds aren’t meant to be kept;
they’re meant to be honoured
at a distance,
like constellations
close enough to guide,
far enough not to burn.
if my nervous system has to disappear
for love to live,
i let love travel and i remain.

you’re not ruining good thingsyou’re guarding the door. the part of you that hits the brakeswhen life finally gets quiet...
11/12/2025

you’re not ruining good things
you’re guarding the door.
the part of you that hits the brakes
when life finally gets quiet isn’t cruel,
it’s loyal.
it remembers that last time peace meant ambush.
it hears calm and thinks:
this is the before.
so it pulls the fire alarm
and calls it “self-sabotage.”
i call it devotion
to the you that survived.
thank the guard dog.
let it sit beside you
while you try one tiny safe thing:
one unclenched breath.
one boundary you don’t over explain.
one moment you let good land without running.
this isn’t failure
it’s rewiring.
teach your body that softness
can be safe,
and it will stop screaming
and start listening.

measure your love by what you’re willing to facenot the fireworks, not the filters, not the ease.face the hard conversat...
10/21/2025

measure your love by what you’re willing to face
not the fireworks, not the filters, not the ease.
face the hard conversations you’d rather outrun.
the mirrors that show you your own mess.
the apology that costs you pride.
the boundary that saves the relationship.
the boredom between highs.
the grief that visits unannounced.
the slow work of repair when rupture has had its say.

love isn’t the performance; it’s the presence.
it’s staying honest when your nervous system wants to bolt.
it’s choosing curiosity over control.
it’s letting closeness change you
not into someone smaller,
but into someone true.

if it can’t hold truth, it isn’t love.
if it can’t survive repair, it’s a performance.
measure it by what you’ll face together.
measure it by what it refuses to avoid.

not every goodbye is a hymn. some are static,missed beats,and a final note that lands crooked but true. you can grieve s...
09/30/2025

not every goodbye is a hymn.
some are static,
missed beats,
and a final note that lands crooked but true.
you can grieve someone who never apologized. you can miss a person you kept at a distance.
you can mourn the version of them
that visited in flashes…
the almost,
the maybe,
the once.
people will try to tidy your story
so it’s easier to comfort.
let them tidy their own.
you get to say the complicated thing:
love and harm can share a roof;
loyalty and self-respect can argue in the same heart;
grief is not awarded for sainthood.
if your mourning sounds like “i wish”
and “i couldn’t”
in the same breath,
you’re not failing…
you’re accurate.
you don’t need anyone’s permission to hurt. honour what was.
name what wasn’t.

you didn’t come here to be convenient.somewhere back then, your body learned that safety lived in being helpful...sharpe...
09/05/2025

you didn’t come here to be convenient.
somewhere back then, your body learned that safety lived in being helpful...
sharpen the mind, smooth the edges, read the room before the room reads you.
be useful. be agreeable. be loveable by earning it.

that wasn’t a personality; it was a shield.
the overthinking, the overgiving, the smiling-through...
all brilliant strategies from a time when you had to survive.

but this is a different season.
retire the costume. return the cape.
let “no” be a complete sentence and “i want” be a holy one.
love that demands your performance isn’t love
let it go.

you don’t have to audition for belonging anymore.
step off the stage. come back to your own voice.
let love arrive without an invoice.

grief isn’t a task to finish;it’s architecture—quiet rooms your life now lives inside.it won’t vanish on cue,and you don...
08/21/2025

grief isn’t a task to finish;
it’s architecture
—quiet rooms your life now lives inside.
it won’t vanish on cue,
and you don’t have to evict it to be okay.
let the world be wrong about “moving on.”
you’re not a mausoleum;
you’re a house with an extra room.
some days you’ll sit with the ache.
some days you’ll open the windows and let joy pour in.
neither is betrayal.
this is the work:
widening your capacity,
not erasing your history.
let sorrow hold one hand and wonder hold the other.
breathe between them.
eat, laugh, weep, repeat.
this is how a heart learns to carry both light and weight
—and keep beating.

you are home to me.not the place with wallsbut the place i exhale.the one who sees the worst of me and still leans in.th...
08/02/2025

you are home to me.
not the place with walls
but the place i exhale.
the one who sees the worst of me and still leans in.
the one who doesn’t flinch when i fall apart.
who doesn’t try to fix what isn’t broken,
who knows the difference between silence and distance
and never confuses the two.

you are my person.
my friend before anything else.
we built something that isn’t perfect
but it’s real.
it’s honest.
it’s weathered.
and it holds.

you know how to sit in hard things
without making them harder.
you bring logic when i’m spiraling
and softness when the world is too sharp.
and in a field where we both hold so many stories,
you still make room for mine.

you are steady when life isn’t.
you are kind without the need to impress.
you are one of the smartest people i know
not just because of what you think,
but because of how you think.
how you pause.
how you wonder.
how you never pretend to know someone else’s pain,
but always make space for it.

this life with you isn’t loud.
it’s not polished or curated.
it’s ordinary in the most sacred way.
shared glances.
deep talks.
hard truths.
and love that holds
without needing to be held up.

you are my anchor.
my mirror.
my favorite kind of quiet.

happy birthday sweet v.
you are the poem i didn’t know i was writing
until every line rhymed with home.

healing doesn’t turn you into a monk.it doesn’t erase your triggersor sterilize your rage.you will still flinch.still gh...
07/23/2025

healing doesn’t turn you into a monk.
it doesn’t erase your triggers
or sterilize your rage.

you will still flinch.
still ghost people you love.
still cry over things that shouldn’t touch you anymore.

and that doesn’t mean you’re failing.
it means your humanity survived.
it means you didn’t abandon yourself
in pursuit of being palatable.

stop trying to become someone
who never cracks.
instead, make room for the version of you
that can shatter and still choose softness.
that can roar and still return to center.

you don’t need fixing.
you need a place
where your whole, chaotic, brilliant self
is allowed to breathe.

Address

1510-1631 Dickson Avenue
Vancouver, BC
V1Y0B5

Opening Hours

Thursday 9am - 7pm
Friday 9am - 7pm
Saturday 9am - 7pm

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