I sit down with my friend and colleague Jasmyn Moore, LMFT, for an honest conversation about the experiences that shaped us long before we became therapists.We talk about childhood, abandonment, different forms of abuse and domestic violence, co-parenting, relationships, and how the things we’ve lived through have shaped the women, mothers, therapists, and friends we are today.Jasmyn and I met while working at the same group practice and have since become an important part of each other’s support systems. This conversation is a reminder that our past can shape us without defining us—and sometimes, we grow into the very people we once needed.Jasmyn is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist serving North Carolina and Virginia and the proud owner of A New Thing Therapy. 🤍To connect more with our guest, please follow Jasmyn Moore's at:Tiktok: a.new.thingtherapInstagram: anewthingtherapy_pllcWebsite: https://www.anewthingtherapy.com/

Some seasons of life just don’t make sense.

Things fall apart. Plans change. Something happens that feels completely unfair, and you find yourself asking the question we’ve all asked at some point:

Why is this happening to me?

This week, that question showed up in something as simple as blowing two tires and unexpectedly needing to replace all four. Maybe it was just terrible luck. Maybe those tires needed to be replaced before something worse happened.

The truth is—I’ll probably never know.

And maybe that’s the point.

Because hope isn’t believing that everything happens for a reason.

Hope is believing that even when you can’t see the reason, you can still create purpose from what you’ve lived.

I’ve learned that through much bigger losses too. I wouldn’t have chosen my divorce or many of the things that came with it, but I can see how I’ve taken pieces of that pain and used them to help other people through heartbreak, relationships, and rebuilding.

You don’t have to understand why something happened in order to decide what you’ll do with it.

So if life feels unfair right now, maybe you don’t need to find the meaning yet.

Maybe, for today, you just need a little hope that this isn’t the end of your story.

Let’s talk about it.

Before I ever sat across from couples as their therapist, I sat on the other side of the room as a client.

Less than a year into my marriage, I discovered an affair. What followed became part of a story I never expected to live—and eventually helped shape the work I would dedicate my career to.

I went from being the woman sitting on the couch trying to understand what had happened to becoming the therapist sitting across from couples having some of the hardest conversations of their lives.

I share how my own experience led me toward graduate school, my passion for working with couples and military families, and the training that eventually shaped the therapist I am today.

But there’s another part of this story that matters:

After everything I’ve lived through, I still believe in love.

I still believe in marriage. I still believe relationships can heal after devastating things happen. And I believe repair is possible when two people are willing to be honest, accountable, and do the work together.

My story didn’t make me stop believing in relationships.

It became part of the reason I learned how to help people save theirs.

Let’s talk about it.

Sometimes life erupts.

The breakup. The divorce. The loss. The moment you realize the life you thought you were building isn’t going to look the way you imagined.

And when you’re standing in the middle of it, transformation is probably the last thing you’re thinking about.

You just want the ground to stop moving.

But what if some of the moments that dismantle us also create the space for something new to grow?

I use the metaphor of a volcano to explore the seasons of my life that felt destructive while I was living them—but ultimately forced me to rebuild, change, and become someone I may never have become otherwise.

Not because the pain was necessary.
Not because everything happens for a reason.
But because we get to decide what we create from what happened.

Maybe the question eventually shifts from “Why did this happen to me?” to “What can I build from here?”

Without the eruption, I might have stayed the same.

Let’s talk about it.

Motherhood doesn’t always look the way we imagined it would.

Sometimes it looks like co-parenting.
Sometimes it looks like doing more with less.
Sometimes it looks like carrying financial stress, exhaustion, guilt, and a thousand invisible responsibilities while wondering if you’re giving your child enough.

I know that feeling.

But maybe being a good mother was never about creating the perfect childhood, taking the biggest trips, or getting every moment right.

Maybe the questions that matter are simpler:

Are they loved?
Are they safe?
Are they allowed to be themselves?
Do they know you’ll keep showing up?

Motherhood can hold gratitude and grief at the same time. You can adore your child and still admit that some days are incredibly hard.

You don’t have to create a picture-perfect life to create a childhood filled with love.

And if Mother’s Day brings up more than one emotion for you, there’s room for all of it here.

Let’s talk about it.

I have been so many versions of myself.

The woman who loved deeply.
The woman who stayed.
The woman who left.
The woman who broke.
The woman who rebuilt.
The woman who had no idea who she was becoming yet.

Inspired by Emory Hall’s I Have Been a Thousand Women and ideas from Lisa Miller’s The Awakened Brain, I’m reflecting on what happens when we stop judging the women we used to be and start honoring them instead.

Because it’s easy to look backward with the wisdom we have now and wonder, Why did I do that? Why did I stay? Why didn’t I know better?

But every version of you was working with what she knew, what she had lived, and what she needed at the time.

Healing doesn’t require you to erase her.

Maybe it means thanking her for getting you here—and giving yourself permission to become someone new.

You have been a thousand women. And every one of them belongs to your story.

Let’s talk about it.

Confusion isn’t a gray area.It’s a message.In this episode, I’m talking to everyone—whether you’re in a relationship, navigating a breakup, or stuck in the uncertainty of dating someone who just isn’t clear.Because the truth is… we don’t get stuck because we don’t know.We get stuck because we don’t trust what we know.I’m opening up about my own experience—what kept me in my marriage, what made leaving so hard, and how clarity doesn’t always come in a loud, obvious way.And through my work as a therapist and relationship coach, I’m sharing what I see all the time:The overthinking. The waiting. The “maybe it’ll change.” The mixed signals.Let me be clear—confusion is an answer.Not always the one you want… but always the one you need to listen to.This episode will help you understand the difference between fear and intuition, recognize when you’re settling vs. choosing and learn how to walk away—with clarity, not chaosLet's talk about it.

Sometimes the hardest part of divorce isn’t losing the relationship.
It’s realizing how much of yourself you lost inside of it.

Who am I without this person?
Who am I outside of being someone’s wife or partner?
What do I actually like?
What do I want my life to look like now?

Divorce can leave you in this strange in-between where the person you used to be doesn’t quite fit anymore, but you haven’t fully met the person you’re becoming.

I know that space because I’ve lived it.

We’re talking about losing your identity in a relationship, grieving versions of yourself you thought you’d be, and beginning the sometimes uncomfortable process of discovering who you are when you’re finally making choices for yourself again.

You’re not just rebuilding a life after divorce.

You’re rebuilding a relationship with yourself.

And maybe the question isn’t, “How do I get back to who I was?”

Maybe it’s, “Who do I get to become now?”

Let’s talk about it.