I barely talked in elementary school. There were a million reasons – I didn’t want to be made fun of, I was afraid of the potential violence of words as I had witnessed their impact and I was already different enough from my peers; I was poor in a school full of wealthy kids, I was a non-Christian in a Catholic school... The list goes on. You might even have your own list of reasons you don’t express yourself.

But one day, I submitted a poem about a goldfish named Tom to a school contest. I won.

And then, I talked. I stood at the podium and unfaltering, even into a microphone, I read my poem aloud to the whole school. It was a revelation! No one laughed. In fact, they clapped! I had been heard. What a rush!

From that day on, I began to talk more. I wrote books with my therapist, Dr. Holstein (yes, I had a therapist as a child) about aliens and many other things. We wrote and wrote and wrote. We had sunflowers and carrot cake on my birthday every year. I called her from home whenever I needed her. I hung upside down on her couch one day and crinkled my nose at this funny word for our time together – sessions.

Years into our sessions, she called my parents to tell them she was dying. She had lung cancer. She of course crossed the patient/therapist boundary and told me she loved me. It seemed appropriate. I remember twirling that curly phone cord (remember those?) around and around, lips trembling, salty tears tumbling down my cheeks. I loved her too.


Later that night, I thought about how many people she had helped to tell their stories, to speak, to write. I was certain that all of those people would be at her funeral. That was the kind of impact I wanted to make in the world. I wanted to help other people tell their stories. It was the most profound thing I had ever experienced.


All of my work in its various forms – in schools, nonprofits, and my own business – has been a tribute to Dr. Nan Holstein. Over the last 20 years, I have guided hundreds of adults and youth to tell their stories, stand tall at the proverbial podium, and be heard.