<![CDATA[Momentum Therapy | Frankie A. Reed, LPC

<![CDATA[Momentum Therapy | Frankie A. Reed, LPC - Tools: Therapy Stories]]>Fri, 06 Mar 2026 17:21:06 -0600Weebly<![CDATA[How Grounding Calms Anxiety in Difficult Moments]]>Wed, 04 Feb 2026 06:00:00 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/how-grounding-calms-anxiety-in-difficult-moments

Choosing a New Path

The door clicked shut behind her. Almost instantly, the knot rose in her throat that was tight, unrelenting, familiar. Her breath shortened, chest tightening as though the air itself had thinned.

She knew this feeling. The meeting had gone as expected, intense, focused, heavy. Her boss wasn’t cruel, but his presence filled the room, his feedback sharp enough to leave a mark.

Still, every time, her body reacted the same way: that rush of heat in her chest, her pulse climbing too high, her vision narrowing just a little at the edges. She turned from the door and walked toward the window.

The Spiral

Thoughts began to circle like birds looking for somewhere to land.

Did I say the wrong thing?
Should I have backed down?
Why do I always feel like I’ve done something wrong?

The more she thought, the lighter her head felt, a dull buzzing rising behind her ears. She caught herself gripping the edge of the windowsill, trying to ground. Then, almost without thinking, she closed her eyes and took the deepest breath she’d taken all day: slow, intentional, pulling air all the way into her belly.

And when she exhaled, the room softened. A single tear slipped free, tracing a slow path down her cheek before she wiped it gently against her forest-green blouse... the one her kids had picked out that morning.

“You’re going to have the best day, Mommy.” For a moment, she’d believed them. Until she’d remembered the meeting and the decision she’d made. The one she still defended.

Returning to the Present

Her breathing deepened again with each inhale steadier than the last. She noticed the light-headedness had eased. Outside the window, life continued in quiet simplicity: a mother and daughter sharing ice cream on the bench below; a woman in a black, flowy dress struggling to unzip her purse for parking money.

The sight made her smile...small, ordinary moments, grounding ones. She remembered her therapist’s voice: “Use your senses. Come back to what’s real. Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste.”

She began, silently.

5- things she could see: the mother and daughter, the woman in black, the streetlight blinking green, the files stacked on her desk, her reflection in the window.
4-things she could touch: the cool glass beneath her fingertips, the fabric of her blouse, her pen, the ceramic mug on the desk.
3-things she could hear: the hum of the air conditioner, faint voices in the hallway, the sound of her own slow breathing.
2- things she could smell: her tea (now lukewarm but still fragrant with cinnamon and jasmine) and the faint, sugary scent of her daughter’s Barbie perfume lingering on her sleeve.
1- thing she could taste: that same tea, sweet and familiar, grounding her in the smallest way possible.
The tears that had felt heavy moments ago now felt like release.

The Knock

A gentle tap at the door startled her. When she turned, it was her boss standing awkwardly, reaching for the briefcase he’d left by her desk. He must’ve noticed something in her face because before leaving, he paused and said, “I appreciate your hard work and willingness to have tough conversations.”

She blinked, surprised. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “It’s not easy having my decisions questioned, but I understand why it happens.”

He nodded and closed the door softly behind him.

The New Path

She stared for a long moment at the closed door, then back at the window. Before shutting her laptop, she thought about what her therapist had told her:

“Every time you choose awareness over reactivity, you create a new neural pathway. You’re teaching your brain safety one moment at a time.”

Maybe this was it, what change looked like. Not big, doses but small ones. A breath. A pause and a softer response.

She smiled, picking up her tea again, and thought to herself, maybe I’ll choose this pathway again.

The Lesson

When anxiety rises, your body is simply trying to protect you. Grounding brings you back by reminding you that you are here, now, safe in this moment.

Change begins in those seconds, when you pause, breathe, and let your awareness create space where reaction used to live.

The Takeaway

You can’t control every interaction but you can choose how you return to yourself after it. Sometimes, calm begins with a single deep breath and ends with the retreating decision to try again tomorrow.

]]><![CDATA[How Journaling Helps Us Release What We Carry]]>Wed, 07 Jan 2026 06:00:00 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/how-journaling-helps-us-release-what-we-carry

Daniel Finds the Words

The house was finally quiet. Dinner dishes were stacked neatly in the sink, the hum of the dishwasher filling the small kitchen. The smell of roasted chicken and garlic still lingered faintly in the air.

Upstairs, his son, Eli, had just fallen asleep.
Daniel had kissed him goodnight, brushed the boy’s hair back from his forehead, and whispered, “I love you, buddy.”

As he paused, the words came easily but peace did not.

The Weight of the Day

It had been one of those days that sits heavy on the chest. The call from the school had come mid-morning: Eli had hit another student during recess. Nothing serious, the principal said, but serious enough.

Daniel had left work early, sat in that small office with the cartoon posters on the walls, and listened as his son explained through tears, “He kept teasing me, Dad. I told him to stop.”

They talked it through and Daniel managed to stay calm. He handled it the way his therapist had once taught him, with curiosity, not punishment.. in a way that he would never have in the past. But on the drive home, something in him twisted. The quiet between them filled with thoughts that didn’t belong to Eli, but to Daniel’s own inner critic.

You should’ve seen this coming. You’re doing it wrong. You’re failing him... just like you failed her.
That last one stung hardest but it felt so true. Truer than the rest.

The Journal

After loading the dishwasher, Daniel made himself a cup of chamomile tea, something that had become his evening ritual. The warmth steadied his hands. He carried it upstairs, to the bedroom that still felt half-frozen in time.

On the nightstand sat a brown leather journal. It had belonged to his late wife, Sara, and had her handwriting looped across the cover: For the things we can’t say out loud.

He hadn’t opened it since the week she moved out, three years ago now. Tonight, though, something tugged at him. He picked it up carefully, the leather soft and worn, corners rounded from use. It smelled faintly of old paper and perfume. When he opened it, his fingers traced the indentations of her writing, the last page she’d written before she left. He swallowed hard, the page blurred as he read...

“Trying isn’t always enough, but it still matters that we try.”

Giving Language to the Weight

Daniel sat down on the edge of the bed, journal open, pen in hand. At first, he didn’t know where to start.
So he wrote what was true:

Today was hard, and I felt like I failed, again, when Eli made a mistake. I made it mine.

The words came slow and jagged at first, then smoother. He wrote about the call, the drive, the ache of wanting to be a better father than he believed he was. He wrote until the tea cooled and the page was crowded with thoughts he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.

Each sentence loosened something in his chest. The act of naming didn’t erase the guilt, but it made it honest. Looking at the words, he could see now that Eli’s outburst was a reflection of being human not of him being a failure of a parent. His own pain had instead meant he was present despite feeling broken.

The Lesson

Journaling is about letting the story breathe, knowing we can't 'fix' it.
When you give language to what hurts, you move the pain from your body to the page. There, it can exist without consuming you. For Daniel, that meant trading silence for vulnerability. The page didn’t judge him or interrupt him. The pages simply hold what needs to be held for everyone.

The Bottom Line

You can’t release what you refuse to name, and writing gives pain somewhere to go. When Daniel found the courage to put words to his guilt, he stopped carrying it alone. The story didn’t change but the meaning did.

]]><![CDATA[Just This Moment: How to Calm a Racing Mind with Presence]]>Wed, 10 Dec 2025 06:00:00 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/just-this-moment-how-to-calm-a-racing-mind-with-presence

Lila in the Bakery

The smell of sugar and yeast wrapped around Lila like a blanket. It was early. The kind of quiet morning before the sun fully rises, when the ovens hum softly and the air feels thick with comfort.

But her thoughts were already racing.

Before she even tied her apron, she could feel that familiar knot tightening in her chest. Her breath had gone shallow, quick.. uneven, like her body was preparing for something her mind couldn’t name.

It didn’t make sense. This was her favorite place. The bakery always felt safe.. warm, predictable, gentle.
So why did her body feel like it was bracing for impact?

She rubbed her palms on her apron, trying to shake off the heaviness, and turned to the dough waiting at her station. Flour dusted the countertop. A soft light filtered through the window. The radio hummed quietly in the background.

She took a deep breath that didn’t quite reach her lungs.

The Background Noise

As she began kneading, her thoughts moved faster than her hands.

Did I confirm that catering order?
What if the pastries don’t rise again?
I still need to call Mom. And the electric bill. And next week’s deliveries…

Her chest tightened again. She could feel her muscles working, steady and sure but her mind was already sprinting into the next hour, the next task, the next possible problem. It was like living two lives at once, one in motion, one in worry.

A few nights earlier, she’d told her therapist, “Even when I feel calm, my mind keeps running ahead. I can’t stop planning the next thing. It’s exhausting.”

Her therapist had smiled softly, “You don’t need to stop it. You just need to notice this moment. Use your senses as anchors: what you see, hear, smell, feel. That’s your way back.”

The Moment

Now, standing in the bakery’s soft light, Lila remembered those words. She paused, hands resting in the dough, and looked around.

The dough beneath her palms was warm and elastic.
The air smelled of cinnamon, vanilla, and browned butter.
She could hear the gentle whir of the mixer, the rhythmic tick of the oven timer, the faint clatter of pans in the distance.

She let herself breathe, really breathe, in through her nose, out through her mouth. For the first time that morning, her shoulders lowered. Her mind, though still humming, slowed its spin.

Just this dough.
Just this smell.
Just this moment....Just this moment.

Why It Matters

Her therapist had said, “Anxiety lives in the future. Regret lives in the past. But presence, real, embodied presence, is always here, waiting for you.”

Lila realized she didn’t have to earn calm by fixing everything first. She could find small pieces of peace right here between breaths, between steps, between thoughts. Every time her mind darted ahead, she brought it back: the warmth of the oven, the scent of sugar, the sound of the timer.

Some days it lasted ten seconds. Some days two. But it was enough.

The Lesson

You don’t have to quiet your mind to find peace. You just have to come back, again and again, to what’s real right now. For Lila, it was dough and cinnamon and sunlight. For you, it might be the sound of your keys, the hum of traffic, or the warmth of a mug in your hands.

Anxiety can’t live in the present. So each time you return, you loosen its hold a little more.

The Takeaway....

You don’t need to fix the future to rest in the present, just need to come back , simply, to what’s here.

Just this breath. Just this sound. Just this moment.

]]><![CDATA[Elena Learns to Rest]]>Wed, 19 Nov 2025 06:00:00 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/elena-learns-to-rest

Elena was always moving.

Her days started before sunrise: answering emails, prepping reports, checking on colleagues. By the time she got home, her mind was still running through tomorrow’s to-do list.

If she sat still too long, she felt uneasy. Her body itched for motion. Her thoughts filled with quiet panic, "There’s something I should be doing."

When she finally took a weekend off, she spent most of it cleaning and reorganizing. The idea of doing nothing felt wrong, like dangerously wrong.

By Sunday evening, she was exhausted all over again.

The Moment She Realized It

During therapy that week, she sighed and said, “Even when I try to rest, I can’t. My brain keeps telling me I’m wasting time.”

Her therapist nodded gently, “That’s a learned response,” she said. “Somewhere along the way, your nervous system started equating stillness with falling behind.”

Elena frowned, “So, rest feels unsafe?”

“Exactly,” her therapist said. “Your body thinks constant motion keeps you in control. But it’s wearing you down. Rest isn’t laziness, it’s how you recover.”

They sat in silence for a moment before her therapist added, “Try naming what comes up when you rest. Not what you’re doing but what you’re feeling.”

Elena thought for a moment, “Guilt,” she said quietly. “And fear. Like something will fall apart if I stop.”

“Good,” her therapist said. “That’s awareness. When you name the guilt, you take away its power.”

Why Naming Helps

Naming your emotions brings the unseen into focus. Without words, feelings blend into a general sense of tension or shame. With words, they become something you can meet, and soothe.

“I feel guilty resting.”
“I feel scared I’ll fall behind.”

Emotions, they’re signals. They tell you what part of yourself still believes you have to earn peace.

What Elena Learned

That weekend, she tried something different. Instead of filling her Saturday, she made coffee, sat by the window, and promised herself she wouldn’t do a single productive thing.

At first, her mind protested, You should be organizing. You should be cleaning. You should…
She took a breath and said softly, “I hear you. But I’m allowed to rest.”

The sentence felt strange, vulnerable even. She stayed in the chair, quiet, eyes on the light shifting across the floor. It wasn’t easy. But it was enough.

The Lesson

Rest is what makes doing sustainable. When you embrace stillness, you’re not lazy. When you try to resist, you’re protecting yourself from the discomfort that rises when things get quiet.

Naming that guilt lets you sit beside it instead of running from it. And with time, rest stops feeling like failure and it starts feeling like home.

The Takeaway....

You don’t have to earn rest, you just have to allow it. When you name the guilt that shows up in stillness, you give yourself permission to breathe again.

]]><![CDATA[Maya and the R.A.I.N.]]>Fri, 17 Oct 2025 05:00:00 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/maya-and-the-rain

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Maya slipped inside, shaking off her umbrella.

It was the kind of gray afternoon that blurred time, rain tapping gently against the windows, espresso machines hissing in rhythm, low jazz humming through the speakers.

The air smelled of roasted beans and something faintly sweet.. vanilla syrup, maybe cinnamon. The walls were a soft sage green, warm light pooling over wooden tables polished smooth from years of use.

She’d come here after a long, heavy morning at work, the kind that left her chest tight and her thoughts sharp around the edges.

She ordered chamomile tea with honey and lavender, her favorite, and carried it to a quiet corner near the window. The steam rose in gentle curls, carrying the floral scent of calm. Outside, the street glistened with puddles, and the rain shimmered under the amber glow of a streetlamp.

Her cat, Juniper, would be waiting at home, probably curled on the windowsill, watching the same rain from a different view. Just the thought of her made Maya’s shoulders drop an inch. She took a breath and remembered what her therapist had taught her last week: RAIN.

R — Recognize

She closed her eyes and asked herself, What’s here right now?

Her heart beat faster than usual. Her mind buzzed with unfinished thoughts.
She felt both tired and restless — a strange mix of wanting to cry and wanting to keep going.

“Overwhelmed,” she whispered. “I feel overwhelmed.”

Recognition. The first step. Outside, the rain deepened, steady and calm. It felt like the world was breathing with her.

A — Allow

Her next impulse was to push it away .. to make a list, distract herself, tighten up and move on.
But this time, she didn’t. She let it stay. The fog, the tension, the ache. She stirred her tea slowly, watching the honey swirl through gold and cream, and whispered,

“It’s okay that I feel this.” The warmth from the cup seeped into her palms. The scent of lavender wrapped around her like permission.

I — Investigate

She turned her attention inward. What is this overwhelm trying to tell me?

Images surfaced: unanswered messages, too many expectations, the effort of always appearing composed.
And under it all, something quieter: loneliness.

Not sharp, just a small, familiar ache — the kind that grows in the pauses between connection.

She took another breath. The steam from her tea fogged her glasses slightly, and she smiled: a small, private moment of tenderness that released the pressure from her chest ever-so slightly, relief.

N — Nurture

She placed a hand gently over her heart, the way her therapist had shown her. “You’re doing your best,” she murmured. “You can rest now.”

The hum of conversation softened around her; the barista laughed quietly at the counter. Maya stayed like that for a while, hands wrapped around her cup, listening to the soft hiss of milk frothing and the rain easing into drizzle.

The tightness in her chest didn’t vanish, but it loosened. The tea cooled, the sky lightened, and she felt steady again, not fixed, just softer.

The Lesson

RAIN isn’t about fixing how you feel but meeting what’s there with gentleness.

Recognize what’s happening.

Allow it to exist.

Investigate with curiosity, not judgment.

Nurture yourself the way you would a friend: quietly, patiently, kindly.

Maya didn’t leave the café “better.” But she left lighter, as if the air itself had shifted, the way it does after a long, steady rain.

The Takeaway...

You can’t rush healing. But you can meet yourself where you are...one breath, one kind word, one drop at a time.
That’s what RAIN teaches us: when you pause to notice what’s falling, you also make room for what can grow.

]]><![CDATA[Claire at Capacity: Naming Fatigue Before It Turns to Burnout]]>Wed, 15 Oct 2025 00:55:54 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/claire-at-capacity-naming-fatigue-before-it-turns-to-burnout

Claire at Capacity

Claire had just finished her third presentation of the day, three different groups of junior colleagues, thirty-five minutes each. The sessions went well. Everyone was engaged, they asked good questions, and her slides landed just as she’d hoped.

She felt accomplished, and completely drained.

By the time she packed up her materials and drove back to the district office, her body was buzzing but her mind was foggy.
Her eyelids grew heavy; she could barely stay awake. She sat at her desk and stared at the screen, too tired to type a sentence. She wasn’t afraid of presenting, she actually enjoyed it. But after each one, the exhaustion hit like a wave.

The Weight She Couldn’t See

Later that week in therapy, she mentioned it almost casually.

“I don’t understand it,” she said. “I like presenting. I’m not nervous about it. But afterward, I’m completely wiped out .... like I’ve run a marathon.”

Her therapist nodded slowly. “That sounds like cognitive and emotional fatigue. Presenting isn’t just talking, it’s sustained focus, constant awareness of your audience, and managing both your energy and theirs. That takes a lot from you.”

Claire frowned, “So, I’m not just being dramatic?”

“Not at all,” her therapist said. “You’re managing adrenaline, empathy, and performance energy. When it’s over, your system finally relaxes, and you feel the crash. It’s your body saying, You’re at capacity.”

The phrase stayed with her, at capacity. It wasn’t failure. It was information.

Her therapist leaned forward, “Try naming it when it happens. Instead of ‘I’m so tired,’ say, ‘I’m at capacity right now.’ That language gives you permission to rest without guilt.”

Why Naming Helps
When you name fatigue, you move it from confusion to clarity. “What’s wrong with me?” becomes “I’ve reached my limit.”
Naming gives your nervous system direction. It lets you listen instead of push. It says: This is information, not weakness.

What Claire Learned
The next time she had back-to-back presentations, Claire made a plan. She spaced breaks between sessions, brought water and snacks, and drove home afterward with the radio off for quiet, intentional stillness.

When a colleague later asked, “Could you pop into one more session for us?” she smiled and replied, “I’m at capacity for today, but I’d be glad to share my slides with you.”

It felt awkward at first, then freeing. No guilt or justification was required, just truth. Her work didn’t suffer; her energy finally balanced. She realized being at capacity didn’t mean she had nothing left to give but that she was finally giving herself the same care she offered everyone else.

The Lesson
You don’t need to be anxious to feel drained. Focus, empathy, and performance all take energy, and every system has a limit. Naming your capacity makes you wise and increases your ability to perform and sustain.

When you honor your limits, you resist burnout and you build endurance.

The Takeaway....

You can’t refill what you won’t admit is empty. When you understand your capacity limits, you give yourself permission to pause before you break. Rest becomes responsible, not indulgent.

]]><![CDATA[Naming What We Carry & Holding Boundaries]]>Thu, 09 Oct 2025 01:51:49 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/naming-what-we-carry-holding-boundaries

Tessa Draws a Boundary

Tessa worked as a regional training coordinator for a healthcare organization. Her job was to support several facilities, train staff, and step in when programs needed guidance. She cared deeply about her work, about people... but lately, she was exhausted.

Requests landed at her doorstep every day:
“Could you cover this presentation?”
“Would you mind coming by our meeting?”
“Can you help with this parent session?”

She said yes more often than not. Technically, she had the time. But she didn’t have the mental capacity to carry it all well.

Each “yes” chipped away at her patience, and lately, she’d started to resent even the smallest requests, from colleagues and, sometimes, even her own family.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help. It was that she couldn’t seem to stop helping. At work, she’d begun closing her office door just to avoid being asked for “a quick favor.” She noticed that the people around her rarely saw her boundaries, only her availability. Her work had become invisible: assumed, expected, absorbed.

The weight of being the “helpful one” was catching up. That week in therapy, she finally said it out loud:

“I’m tired of being everyone’s go-to. I keep saying yes, even when I know I’m spent. I’m mad at myself for not sticking to my own limits.”

Her therapist nodded, “It sounds like you’re carrying other people’s responsibilities....and the resentment that comes with them. Sometimes, people like you care so much that you confuse capacity with obligation. Let’s slow it down and put language around that.”

Tessa frowned, “I just feel like if I don’t help, I’m letting people down.”

“That’s the story exhaustion tells,” her therapist said gently. “You help because you care, but you’ve started doing it from depletion, not generosity. Boundaries aren’t rejection but care with structure.”

They practiced a sentence together, something that honored both her care and her limits:

“I’m at capacity right now, but I’d be happy to share the materials with you.”

It was honest, kind, and clear. It made room for compassion without overextension.

Her therapist added, “You can have time and still not have capacity. Protecting your mental space doesn’t make you selfish, it makes you sustainable.”

Something clicked. For the first time in months, Tessa felt the tightness in her chest ease.

Why Naming Helps

When emotions stay unspoken, they live in the body: a clenched jaw, heavy chest, or constant fatigue.
Naming them brings them into view.

“I’m overwhelmed.”
“I’m resentful.”
“I’m at capacity.”

These words create clarity, not weakness, and clarity is what allows change.

What Tessa Learned...

The next week, another colleague asked for her help. Her first instinct was the usual “Sure, I can make that work.” Then she paused. She remembered her therapist’s words, "You can have time but not capacity."

She replied instead: “I’m at capacity right now, but I can send you the outline I used.”

No guilt or long explanation needed. What she needed was truth and holding the line.
To her surprise, her colleague thanked her and moved on. The moment was small, but it felt huge.

She realized people could handle her boundaries, she just needed to start honoring them herself.

The Lesson

When you name what you feel, you begin to understand what it’s asking for.

Overwhelm often says, “You need rest.”
Resentment often says, “You’ve given too much.”
Exhaustion often says, “You’re carrying what isn’t yours.”

Naming brings emotion out of the body and into awareness. It gives you the language to protect your peace and still show up with care. For Tessa, that meant remembering that saying no didn’t make her unkind , it made her human.

The Takeaway...

You can’t set boundaries around emotions you haven’t named. Once you give them words, you give them direction.

So pause, breathe, and ask yourself, “What am I really feeling right now?” Then say it, even softly.
Naming what you carry doesn’t make it heavier but reinforces being honest. Honesty and transparency is where healing begins.

]]><![CDATA[The Wise Mind (Part 2.1): Choosing Your Wise Mind in Relationships]]>Sun, 05 Oct 2025 22:26:23 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/the-wise-mind-part-21-choosing-your-wise-mind-in-relationships

Anna Learns to Listen

It started with something small, an argument over dinner plans. Anna wanted a quiet night at home. Her partner, James, wanted to go out with friends. The conversation went from calm to clipped in seconds.

“You never want to do anything,” James said.
“And YOU never stop,” Anna shot back.

The air between them thickened. Neither was really hearing the other, both were defending themselves. Anna’s voice got sharper as James’s tone got colder. They weren’t fighting about dinner anymore. They were fighting about feeling unseen.

Anna took a breath and heard her therapist’s voice in her mind: “Notice which mind you’re in right now.”

She paused and noticed her chest was tight. By this time, tears pressed behind her eyes until they rolled down her cheeks. That was her Emotional Mind. The one that James couldn't see was driving her frustration.

Her thoughts were racing to defend her position: I’m not wrong. He’s being unfair. That was her Reasonable Mind. The only one perspective SHE could see.

She exhaled and tried to reach for her Wise Mind. She looked at James and said quietly, “I think we’re both trying to feel heard right now.”

It was a simple observation, but it changed the energy instantly. He exhaled and softened his gaze, "You're right." The fight stopped being about who was right and became about what they both needed.

What Is Wise Mind in Relationships?

In relationships, Wise Mind means listening with both logic and empathy. It’s the pause between reacting and responding.

When we speak only from Reasonable Mind, we sound detached or controlling.
When we speak only from Emotional Mind, we sound reactive or defensive.

Wise Mind brings both together, it lets you stand in truth and compassion at the same time.
It sounds like:

“I feel hurt, but I want to understand where you’re coming from.”
“I need space, but I still care.”
“Let’s take a minute and come back to this.”

These small pauses create safety and helps conversations move you from argument to understanding.

The Lesson

Wise Mind in relationships isn’t always saying the perfect thing but more about staying present enough to remember that both people want to be seen and understood.

Anna didn’t lose the argument that night she gained perspective, and practiced building a new neuropathway toward responding to conflict and intense moments. When she chose to listen instead of defend, the conversation shifted from Who’s right? to What’s true?

The Wise Takeaway....

When conflict rises, pause and ask yourself:

Which mind am I in right now — emotional, reasonable, or wise?

When you speak from Wise Mind, you lead with balance. You don’t abandon yourself to keep peace, and you don’t use logic to win. Relationships grow where you choose understanding.

]]><![CDATA[The Wise Mind Series (Part Two): Finding the Healthy Balance Between Busyness and 'Laziness']]>Sun, 05 Oct 2025 21:38:43 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/the-wise-mind-series-part-two-finding-the-healthy-balance-between-busyness-and-laziness

The Parkers Find the Middle

In therapy, the Parker family sat across from one another with their two teenagers, Emily and Noah, silent but clearly tense.

Emily, the oldest, had always been in motion. Straight-A student, captain of the soccer team, volunteering on weekends. Her calendar looked more like a CEO’s than a 17-year-old’s.

Next to her sat Noah, the youngest. Seventeen months apart but worlds away in energy. He liked quietness: Sketching, late-night playlists, long walks without talking. He wasn’t failing school, but he wasn’t chasing anything either.

Their parents were frustrated, exhausted, and worried. Emily seemed burned out and irritable; Noah seemed detached and unmotivated. At home, the two of them fought constantly.

“You need to relax,” Noah told her one night. “You don’t even know how to just be here.”
“And you,” Emily shot back, “could actually try doing something with your life instead of floating through it.”

In therapy, their counselor listened and smiled softly. “You’re both right,” she said. “And you’re both missing something.”

The Doing Mind and the Being Mind

Doing Mind is focused on goals, results, and achievement. It plans, organizes, and solves.
Being Mind is present, open, and accepting. It notices what is instead of what should be.

Emily lived mostly in Doing Mind — driven, structured, constantly striving.
Noah lived mostly in Being Mind — reflective, calm, but often stuck.

Both were using only half their resources.

The counselor explained, “Doing Mind helps you accomplish. Being Mind helps you connect. But Wise Mind helps you balance. It’s where action meets awareness.”

Meeting in the Middle....

The next week, Emily agreed to skip her weekend volunteering and spend the afternoon with her brother. They walked by the lake in silence for a while before she finally said, “I don’t know how you do this....just walk without needing to be anywhere... but it's nice.”

Noah smiled. “And I don’t know how you get up every morning with a list of goals. It makes me tired just thinking about it.”

They both laughed. Somewhere between the doing and the being, they started to see each other differently and not as opposites.

The Lesson

In Wise Mind, neither pace is wrong. You don’t have to give up structure to find peace, and you don’t have to stop resting to start moving. Wise Mind invites you to ask, “What’s needed right now, movement or stillness?”
and trust that the answer can change from one moment to the next.

That’s what the Parkers learned together. Balance isn’t found at the edge of either extreme but in the middle, where doing meets being, and where understanding replaces judgment.

The Takeaway..

We all lean toward one side, some of us measure worth in productivity, others in peace. Wise Mind doesn't ask us to choose one or the other. It encourages us to know when to act and when to breathe. When you pause long enough to ask, “What does this moment need?”, you stop competing with yourself and start cooperating with your own balance.

]]><![CDATA[Finding Your Wise Mind (Part 1): The Common Ground Between Logic and Emotion]]>Wed, 01 Oct 2025 05:00:00 GMThttps://www.frankiealisha.com/tools-therapy-stories/finding-your-wise-mind-part-1-the-common-ground-between-logic-and-emotion

Mark Holds the Line

Mark checked the clock. 11:05 p.m. Curfew had come and gone, and his phone buzzed again, another text from his daughter.

“Dad, it’s prom night. Everyone’s still out. Please, can I stay another hour?”

Mark stared at the screen, jaw tight. The rule was 11. They had agreed. She knew that.

He typed back quickly:
“No. You had your time. Be home now.”

He set the phone down, heart beating fast. For a moment, he felt justified... firm, responsible, in control. But then he paused. Something didn’t sit right and the silence in the house felt heavy, not strong.

A few minutes later, headlights pulled into the driveway. Mark walked to the door and waited. His daughter stepped out of the car, wiping at her eyes.

He took a breath, softened, and said quietly, “Hey, it’s okay. You can go back out for a bit.”
She looked at him, surprised.

He added, “I’m sorry for snapping over text. I just got worried. Go have fun, AND be safe.” He pointed at her jokingly before he kissed her forehead.

She smiled through a small tear, nodded, and ran back to the car. Mark stood at the doorway for a moment, exhaling. Logic had kept him in control, but compassion helped him connect in a way he hadn't in a long time, since his wife's passing.

Later that night, he realized what had happened, he had shifted from Reasonable Mind into Wise Mind.

What Is the Wise Mind?

In Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), Wise Mind is the balance between your emotional and rational selves. It’s the part of you that can pause long enough to consider both what you feel and what you know.

Reasonable Mind uses logic, facts, and structure.
Emotional Mind runs on feelings, impulses, and reactions.
Wise Mind brings both together to find grounded understanding.

When you lead only from logic, you can become rigid or detached.
When you lead only from emotion, you can become reactive or overwhelmed.
Wise Mind is where calm meets compassion.

What Mark Realized.......

Mark wasn’t wrong to care about safety, but his first response came from fear, not wisdom. When he paused, he noticed that fear and made room for something else, connection.

A Wise Mind response means responding with balance, it doesn’t mean giving in.

It might sound like:

“I know it’s a big night, and I get that you want more time with your friends. I’m not comfortable with you staying out another hour, but let’s talk about a compromise next time.”

It still holds a boundary, but with understanding instead of rigidity.

What's the Takeaway

Your Wise Mind isn’t a softer version of logic but a more complete one. One that allows you to slow down, consider both heart and head, and respond in a way that reflects your values, not just your fear or your rules.

When you pause to ask, “What would my Wise Mind say right now?” you give yourself room to lead with both clarity and compassion. That’s where connection begins.

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