Less by the event itself than by what it’s still doing to you. Trauma is an experience that posed a real or perceived threat to your life, your well-being, or your sense of who you are — and I say perceived deliberately, because in stressful moments the brain can misjudge what’s truly dangerous, especially after you’ve lived through real danger. I also use the word “trauma” carefully; it gets thrown around a lot these days, which has blurred what it means. So rather than lead with the label, I pay attention to what’s actually happening: if a memory won’t stay out of your mind, if it knocks you off balance when it surfaces, if it keeps returning when you least want it — that’s the thing we treat, whatever we end up calling it. 

When most people ask this, what they’re really asking is whether they’ll have to share everything before they feel safe enough to do it. The answer is no. You won’t be asked to lay it all out on day one, and we won’t go anywhere near the hardest parts until you’re ready and in control. We go at your pace, the whole way. What does help, when the time is right, is learning to tell the story on your terms and in your time. Because trauma can shut down the part of the brain that puts experience into words, many people carry something they’ve never been able to say — and the silence is part of what gives it power. When you can finally put words to it, they bring clarity, and it begins to loosen its hold. Story by story, the past becomes something you carry rather than something that carries you — a memory that, at last, stays in the past. 

It depends on what you’re carrying and what you’re hoping for, so I won’t promise a fixed number. Some people come in focused on a single difficult memory and find meaningful relief in a matter of 

weeks. Others are working through something more complex, where the timeline is more gradual and we build safety before doing the deeper work. What I can tell you is that the goal isn’t to keep you in therapy — it’s to help you get to where the past stays in the past, and then to help you carry on from there. We’ll talk openly about your progress along the way, so you’re never guessing where things stand. 

Yes. I see clients in person at my office in Bentonville, in the heart of Northwest Arkansas — convenient to Rogers, Bella Vista, Centerton, Springdale, and Fayetteville — and I also provide trauma therapy by secure video to anyone located in Arkansas or Nebraska. For some people, doing this work from the comfort and privacy of their own space actually makes it easier. EMDR can be done virtually as well, but whether that’s the right call depends on the memory we’re working with — some are intense enough that I’d want to do that part in person, where I can support you most fully. We decide that together, with your safety leading the way. Whichever fits, the care is the same. 

Because freezing isn’t a choice, and it isn’t weakness. In a moment of real threat, a part of the brain whose only job is to keep you alive takes over. It moves through a sequence — first reaching for help, then preparing you to fight or flee, and finally, if there’s no escape, shutting things down and freezing. That last response isn’t failure; I believe it’s the body’s way of trying to minimize the memory of what’s about to happen. None of these reactions are chosen, and none of them mean something is wrong with you. They’re a protective system doing its job — including the freeze. 

Because in that moment, part of your brain has lost track of when the memory belongs. When the brain goes into survival mode, the parts that handle logical thinking, language, and our sense of time can go quiet — and when the sense of time goes offline, a memory can lose its timestamp. So instead of feeling like something that happened in the past, it feels like something happening now. That’s what a flashback really is: not a sign you’re losing your grip, but a memory your brain is replaying without the usual markers that tell it the danger has passed. For many people, just learning to recognize that in the moment brings real relief. 

The real key is learning to work with the protective part of your brain rather than against it. Fighting it tends to backfire, often convincing the brain that the threat is real. So instead we get to know it, thank it for trying to keep you safe, and gently help it tell the difference between a real danger now and an echo of danger from before. There are practical ways into this. When you’re triggered, reasoning with yourself doesn’t work, because the reasoning part of the brain has stepped back — but language and breath are still available. That’s why slowing and lengthening your breath, especially the exhale, actually helps: it sends your body a signal it can hear even when reasoning can’t reach you. And it’s something you can learn to do on your own. 

EMDR is a therapy for memories that are hard to get past. You’ll find plenty of descriptions of the technique itself online, but what matters is what it accomplishes. When a frightening thing happened, the meaning you made of it was often formed while the higher-level thinking and meaning-making part of your brain was offline — which is how a five-year-old can walk away certain that something was their fault. EMDR helps the brain revisit that moment with its full capacity back online, so a truer, kinder understanding can take hold. It’s never a magic bullet, and it’s only done once there’s real safety in place — but in the right setting it can be powerful. 

Yes — and it’s something relatively few clinicians offer. Alongside individual EMDR, I practice it conjointly with couples, where a partner is present and supportive through the process. Going through it beside someone you trust can deepen safety and connection in a way individual work 

often can’t. It’s part of how the trauma and couples work I do fit together: old wounds can be healed within the relationship, not just apart from it.