Pier 34 is a non profit organization focused on providing mental health education to the public and professionals.
02/23/2026
What Healthy Repair Can Look Like
Healthy repair is rarely dramatic.
It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t demand instant trust. It doesn’t bypass the wound with big promises or emotional intensity.
Instead, it looks like small, steady actions. Accountability without defensiveness. Changed behavior that lasts longer than an apology. Space given when needed. Time allowed to do its quiet work.
Trust rebuilds in layers — not through pressure, but through consistency.
If you’re walking through repair, remember: real rebuilding is usually quieter than the break was. And that’s often a good sign.
02/20/2026
Repair Doesn’t Always Mean Reconciliation
There’s a quiet pressure to fix things.
To reconnect. To restore what was. To make peace in a way that looks complete from the outside. But repair and reconciliation are not the same thing.
Repair is internal. It’s tending to the wound, understanding what happened, restoring your own sense of safety and clarity.
Reconciliation requires mutual effort. Accountability. Change. Consistency over time.
You are allowed to pursue healing without re-entering what hurt you. Choosing safety is not bitterness. It’s discernment.
Not every relationship is meant to return to its previous shape. Sometimes repair means learning how to move forward differently.
02/18/2026
When Trust Was Broken (And Still Hurts)
Trust doesn’t disappear all at once.
Sometimes it fractures slowly. Other times it breaks in a single moment. Either way, the after-effects tend to linger — in hesitation, guardedness, overthinking, or a body that tightens before your mind catches up.
“Moving on” sounds simple from the outside. But relational wounds don’t resolve just because time passes. They settle into memory, into patterns, into how safe it feels to open up again.
If you’re still carrying the weight of something that happened months or even years ago, that doesn’t mean you’re stuck. It means trust mattered to you. And rebuilding — whether internally or relationally — takes more than willpower.
Healing from broken trust is not weakness. It’s carefulness. And carefulness can be wise.
02/16/2026
Letting Relationships Breathe
Healthy relationships don’t require constant effort to survive.
Sometimes, giving space isn’t pulling away — it’s allowing things to settle. It’s trusting that connection doesn’t disappear just because it isn’t being actively maintained every moment.
Letting relationships breathe can feel risky, especially if you’re used to being the one who keeps everything going. But space can reveal what’s steady, what’s reciprocal, and what no longer needs to be forced.
You don’t have to hold everything together all the time. Some things are allowed to stand on their own.
02/13/2026
When You’re the One Who Always Holds It Together
Some people become the steady one by necessity.
You notice needs. You anticipate problems. You carry emotional weight so others don’t have to. Over time, that role can feel less like a choice and more like an obligation — one that’s hard to step out of without guilt.
But always holding it together can quietly drain capacity. It can leave little room for rest, honesty, or support of your own.
If you’re realizing that you’ve been over-functioning, this isn’t a failure. It’s awareness. And awareness is often the first step toward more balanced, mutual relationships.
02/11/2026
Boundaries Aren’t Rejection
For many people, boundaries can feel uncomfortable — even unkind.
Especially if you’ve learned that being loving means being available, accommodating, or easy to reach at all times. In that framework, saying no can feel like pulling away or hurting someone.
But boundaries aren’t about distancing yourself from others. They’re about creating conditions where connection can actually last. They protect energy, clarify expectations, and make relationships more sustainable.
If you’re learning to set limits without shutting down or disappearing, that’s not rejection. It’s care — for yourself and for the relationship.
02/09/2026
Gentle Ways to Stay Connected
Not all connection needs to be deep or intense to be real.
Sometimes staying connected looks like quiet presence. A shared moment without heavy conversation. Space that feels respectful instead of distant. Being near without needing to fix or explain anything.
If closeness feels like too much right now, that doesn’t mean you’re withdrawing from relationship altogether. It may simply mean you’re finding steadier, gentler ways to stay connected.
Connection doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful. Sometimes it’s enough to remain open — even quietly — to one another.
02/06/2026
When Connection Feels Harder Than It Used To
Sometimes the hardest part isn’t wanting connection — it’s noticing how different it feels now.
You may still care deeply, but being close takes more energy than it once did. Conversations feel heavier. Time together feels complicated. And that change can bring guilt or confusion, especially if the relationship matters to you.
Trauma, grief, and long seasons of stress can all affect how we relate to others. Pulling back isn’t always avoidance. Sometimes it’s the nervous system trying to protect itself while it recalibrates.
If connection feels harder lately, you’re not broken. You may just be learning a new way of relating — one that honors what you’ve been through.
02/04/2026
Why Safety Matters More Than Closeness
We often talk about connection as if closeness is the goal.
But for many people, especially after hard or traumatic experiences, closeness without safety can feel overwhelming instead of comforting. The body knows when it’s bracing — even if the relationship looks fine on the surface.
Emotional safety isn’t about intensity or constant access. It’s about feeling respected, listened to, and free to be yourself without fear of punishment or pressure.
If you’ve found yourself pulling back instead of leaning in, it doesn’t always mean something is wrong with you or the relationship. Sometimes it means your system is asking for safety before closeness.
And that’s a wise place to start.
02/03/2026
February Introduction – A Different Kind of Conversation About Relationships
February often brings a lot of noise about love and connection. Here at Pier 34, we want to slow that conversation down.
This month, we’ll be talking about relationships through a different lens — one that’s shaped by grief, trauma, fatigue, and long seasons of holding things together. We’ll explore emotional safety, boundaries, repair, and what it means to stay connected without losing yourself.
Not every relationship season is about closeness or celebration. Some are about learning how to be honest, steady, and kind — especially when things feel complicated.
If connection feels tender or difficult right now, you’re not alone. And you’re welcome here.
02/02/2026
Holding Hope Without Forcing It
Hope doesn’t always arrive as confidence or clarity.
Sometimes it shows up as a small willingness to keep going. A pause instead of despair. A moment of light that doesn’t erase the darkness, but coexists with it.
You don’t have to feel hopeful to be moving toward healing. You don’t have to force optimism or pretend things are better than they are.
It’s enough to hold space for the possibility that something gentle could still grow — even here, even now.
Hope doesn’t need to be loud to be real.
01/30/2026
Faith After Trauma
Trauma can change the way faith feels.
Beliefs that once brought comfort may feel distant. Practices that used to ground you might now feel complicated, or even unsafe. This doesn’t mean faith is gone — often, it means it’s being re-formed.
For many people, faith after trauma becomes quieter, more honest, less certain — and sometimes more real. Questions replace easy answers. Trust grows slowly, if at all. And that’s okay.
If your faith doesn’t look the way it used to, you’re not failing spiritually. You may simply be learning how to believe again in a way that can hold both pain and hope.
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The term “little brother” can awaken memories of sibling rivalry, broken toys, and tattle-tales. The term “little brother” can also bring to mind fond memories of forts, mud-pies, and a person who knows you better than you know yourself. Rob was my “little brother” and the mention of his name echos all of these recollections.
Rob passed away at the age of 34 after a long battle with Bipolar Disorder. He was found as if napping in his apartment on a summer afternoon and I will never know why. Rob had suffered for 14 years, but with therapy and medication, he was beginning to experience an improved quality of life. This help should have come much sooner.
My grief consumed me, missing him so much at times I could hardly breathe. I had come to think of myself as his safe harbor that he could turn toward when he was sad, sick, or afraid. But what I realized was that I had not only lost my best friend, but my pier on the water as well. Where would I turn now?
As a therapist, I found myself exasperated with the lack of mental health resources available for those not only in need, but as human beings, deserving of help. One morning, I approached my office mate. We tossed around ideas for months, with mostly me tossing and Donnie telling me why it wouldn’t work. But we finally decided on a model that we mostly agreed on.
Excited to move forward, I approached Susie, who I had known for many years. We all met for lunch one afternoon and committed to this journey of providing a pier for our community. For those deserving of being seen, of being heard-of becoming whole.
