It never occurred to me to think past my wedding day. I didn’t consider how long marriage lasted. At least I couldn’t have because if I had, wouldn’t I have rolled some ideas around in my head, like, does this person have interests similar to mine? Is he affectionate? Does he get up early or

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Many of my clients are women likely to be seen scaling the side of burning buildings in three-inch pumps, throwing the traumatized on their backs and tossing turkey sandwiches on Rye to firefighters as she goes. It’s often a topic of discussion in our sessions how the habits and tools that led to their current achievements, are not

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“I hope I don’t eat one of those,” my aunt said one night at dinner nodding toward a glistening plate of baked potatoes. Currently, I’m hoping I don’t eat the Costco bag of chocolate covered berries my husband hid from me behind a stack of shirts in his closet. But I have a long history with hope that’s less playful, more dangerous

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“The reality is…”  This is how our first dog trainer, Elinor, who we paid just shy of one thousand dollars, started every sentence. Whether answering when Enzo will behave well enough to go to a dog park, how to get him to stop jumping or what to feed him, the answer started with “The reality is…” The reality

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I’ve been flirting my whole life. When I was young, I flirted with tall, aloof, disinterested boys who (god-willing) didn’t notice I was flirting at all. For all I know, the flirting existed in my head, but regardless, the image of me testing the waters of my worthiness in another’s eyes resulted in cringing myself

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