Mending Hearts Counseling

10/17/2025

10/13/2025

10/12/2025

If there's an abuser in your friend group and you choose to stay out of it and not "pick sides," then you picked a side. You fostered a space that was safe for someone to abuse others, a space that says, "you are welcome to hurt people here." Choosing silence in these moments is not neutral—it is a decision that allows harm to continue. It tells the abuser that their actions are acceptable, and it tells the victims that their pain does not matter. Every time you refuse to acknowledge wrongdoing, you create an environment where fear, intimidation, and manipulation thrive.

Abuse does not exist in a vacuum. It is reinforced when people look away, when those who could speak up choose comfort over confrontation. By staying silent, you are participating in the damage, whether intentionally or not. You may tell yourself you are avoiding conflict or preserving peace, but real peace cannot exist where harm is ignored. True peace requires justice, accountability, and protection for those being hurt.

Being part of a friend group is more than showing up for good times; it is a responsibility. It is the responsibility to notice when someone is hurting, to recognize toxic patterns, and to refuse to enable them. Neutrality in the face of abuse is a betrayal of that responsibility. It signals that the safety, dignity, and well-being of others are secondary to your own comfort.

Choosing to intervene or speak up is not easy. It may risk tension, backlash, or even being ostracized. But inaction comes at a greater cost. The cost is the continued suffering of your friends, the erosion of trust within your circle, and the quiet empowerment of someone who thrives on control and harm. To truly be a friend, to truly uphold integrity, you must be willing to challenge the abuser, to support the victim, and to create a culture in your group where abuse has no place to grow. Silence is a choice—and in this case, it is a choice to side with harm.

10/12/2025

10/02/2025

09/06/2025

09/02/2025

04/15/2025

Sometimes the silence can be louder than the noise. It echoes in the spaces where your laughter once lived. The whispers of doubt can sound like yells of despair, and for you—someone with a future fulled of cheers—those whispers became a roar.

Mental health is not a weakness. It’s a conversation we must keep having—especially for our athletes.

We may never know the heights you could have climbed, the legacy you were still writing. But what we do know is that your presence
you mattered.

So many of us are fighting silent battles, with no sword of protection, facing an army of fears about what’s next. But hear this: no matter what battles we face, there’s always a chance for a victory. And that’s worth fighting for.

If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out—call or text 988, the Su***de & Crisis Lifeline.

02/21/2025

Eminem once said: My side of the story doesn't matter anymore. Life happened, it hurt, I healed, but most importantly I learned who deserves a seat at my table and who will never sit at it again.

There comes a time when you realize that the narrative you once clung to—your side of the story—no longer holds the same weight. Life unfolds in ways that are sometimes harsh, and for a long time, we might hold onto the hurt, the misunderstandings, the need to prove our truth. But eventually, you reach a point where the importance of being heard fades. It’s not that your pain doesn’t matter; it’s that you’ve learned to stop seeking validation from those who can’t see you for who you are.

The truth is, life will knock us down in ways we never expect. We may face betrayal, heartbreak, and moments that leave us questioning everything. But in the process of healing, something incredible happens: we rediscover our strength. We rebuild ourselves, piece by piece, learning not just about the world, but about our own boundaries, our values, and who truly deserves to be part of our journey.

The most important lesson isn’t that life will always be fair or that people will always treat us with kindness—it’s that we have the power to choose who we allow into our lives. The people who have shown up for us when we were at our lowest, who’ve respected our boundaries, who’ve loved us even when it was hard—those are the ones who deserve a seat at our table. And the ones who’ve hurt us, betrayed us, or failed to see our worth? They no longer get that privilege.

The act of healing is one of self-discovery. It’s a quiet revolution within, where you stop apologizing for your pain, stop chasing after those who’ve long since walked away, and start honoring your own worth. In that space of healing, you become more selective about who you give your energy to, and you learn that your peace is far more important than holding on to old stories or old wounds.
-

02/17/2025

If there is anything I could tell the parents of teenagers right now, it would be this: It doesn’t matter.

I am here to tell you that it just doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter if your child earns a B (or a C or even a D) in Algebra, if they don’t make the National Honor Society, if they start on the varsity baseball team, if they warm the bench, if they don’t pass the AP exam or if they get the highest score, or if they get that internship or not.

It doesn’t matter if they get a perfect score on the SAT or if they bomb it. It doesn’t matter if they are the valedictorian of their high school. It doesn’t matter where they go to college.

It just doesn’t matter — none of it matters — if your kid isn’t healthy.

I’m not talking about if your child is afflicted with appendicitis, lupus, or cancer, although, of course, those conditions would all take precedence, too. I am talking about mental health. And please, do not be fooled: Mental health is physical health.

Over the past several years, I have done a lot of reporting and analyzing why our kids are in such a dark place. I have talked to many high school and college students from all over the country, and my not-expert opinion is this: The stakes are simply too high.

We have convinced our teens that there is no room for error.

Parents ask if they can pull their children out of classes if they are in danger of earning a B, certain that anything less than an A will keep them out of a “good college,” whatever that means. They won’t let them quit a sport or an activity they don’t like anymore because they believe colleges will not want their kids unless they show a four-year commitment.

Our kids compromise their sleep, nutrition, and social lives, chasing some notion of what their future demands.

Don’t get me wrong; I understand these worries and the fear kids need to do certain things to have “good” lives (again, whatever that means). I get it. And, of course, our kids need to do things that make them uncomfortable or challenge them. I wholeheartedly believe that.

But simultaneously, because we are their parents, we’re sometimes the only ones who can turn down the pressure valve for our kids. We have to confidently tell them it’s OK to get a B, a C, or even a D.

It’s OK to fail. It’s OK to quit a team, a band, or a job. It’s OK to say no. It’s OK to be who they are, and that may not be the class president, team captain, or valedictorian. They can just be themselves because being themselves is enough, and they are enough, and they can and will survive any of these perceived setbacks.

Here’s the hard truth: So many kids have sat in my office and told me while wiping away tears that they are afraid of disappointing their parents. It breaks my heart because I want my kids to be happy like any other parent. Yet, I know my kids would say the same thing.

It’s easy for us to get caught up in all of it, to believe that we need certain scores, grades, titles, or acceptances to validate ourselves and tell the world our value. Our job is to let our children know that their value is inherent.

Your children, my children, and all of our children believe their value in this world is in question. My mission, I have decided, is to make sure my kids know that all I want for them is to be good citizens, friends, partners, and humans.

What matters? Hope, effort, love, purpose, and people matter. Wanting to stay on this planet, get up tomorrow, and try matters again. Nothing else really does.

How do we convince our kids it’s all right to put down their burdens and rest and realize they have always been enough and worthy of love just as they are?

They need us to tell them.

They need us, the ones who have lived long enough to see the other side of a bad day, a bad month, or a bad year, to tell them things are not either “perfect” or “ruined” —that lives, like some of the best roads to travel, are winding and have rest stops, and that success (whatever that looks like for them) is not linear.

They need us to tell them the stakes are not nearly as high as they think.

Something has to happen. Something has to change. And that something starts with us believing that nothing matters as much as our kids’ health.

There’s no time to waste.