Dear New Client

Many people find themselves drawn to somatic therapy without really knowing what it is, or how it works. This letter is my attempt to orient you if you’re considering working with me, or if you’re simply curious about what this path looks like. Think of it as a welcome, an introduction, and an invitation into the process.

Welcome

Welcome to my practice.

I wish somebody had written me a letter like this when I first showed up to somatic therapy.

In my experience, most people carry some kind of what the therapy world calls “complex developmental trauma.” That means that in childhood and adolescence things happened that were too much to feel and understand, and/or the environment lacked sane, present, and supportive adults. The result is shame and various forms of dis-ease. It’s very common, normal, and human.

The broad arc of the work

Ideally, the arc of this work involves learning to receive presence and support; internalizing that support as personal faith and trust in the goodness of being alive; and allowing oneself to experience what was once too overwhelming, scary, or shameful, but can now be compassionately felt and seen. The outcome is not cure or personal perfection, but humble resilience and ordinary well-being as you move forward in life.

Somatic Experiencing is, in a sense, a form of mindfulness practice—except instead of focusing on the breath or a mantra, we bring mindful attention to the patterns of the nervous system. We notice how the body organizes around threat, trust, and connection, and we work gently with those patterns as they show up in “real time” — the present moment. This orientation allows experiences that were once overwhelming to be met with more space, compassion, and support.

Consent and mystery

Whenever we engage something that meaningfully affects us—whether it’s therapy, medicine, or any real encounter with life—full “informed consent” is impossible. We can never gather all the facts or predict all the outcomes. What we can do is start small, with titrated doses, and pay close attention to how the process feels in real time. This way we honor both your autonomy and the mystery of what unfolds, adjusting as we go.

Trauma and conditions for unfolding

I think of trauma as experience that hasn’t been fully felt by the mindbody. For good reason, it has been subconsciously, temporarily compartmentalized—put on the metaphorical shelf, where it waits patiently for the conditions that will allow it to move through. These conditions are something of a mystery, but if you’ve found yourself looking into somatic therapy, psychedelic integration, or other forms of supported self-exploration, it’s likely that they’ve already begun to organize themselves.

At this point your system may start looking for the relational piece: the felt presence of another person’s capacity to stay with what is wanting to unfold. This is where resonance comes in. Just as a tuning fork begins to vibrate when struck near another tuning fork of the same pitch, the human nervous system can begin to resonate when met by another system that is steady, present, and attuned. Once you find that person—or those people—deeper layers may begin to emerge.

It’s also useful to remember that conditions ebb and flow. Sometimes the process moves quickly, sometimes it goes quiet. Underneath all of this is the organic intelligence of your system, which knows what to bring forward and what to hold back. Our task together is not to force the process but to create conditions of presence, curiosity, and trust, so that intelligence has the space to guide what unfolds.

The role of presence

To elaborate the tuning fork analogy above, each practitioner’s presence carries a unique tone. In my case, clients sometimes find that being with me brings forward material related to father wounds, or questions about their relationship to the masculine. That might mean meeting clarity, directness, or penetrating insight with fresh eyes; it might also mean touching old patterns of shame, fear, or longing for recognition. If this happens, it isn’t a mistake—it can be an important part of the work. My commitment is to stay present with you as these dynamics unfold, so that what was once painful can be met in a new way.

Information can be very helpful, but what heals most deeply is presence itself. At first, perhaps, the presence of a practitioner, but in time one’s own capacity for presence—self-sustaining access to the medicine of seeing, feeling, and experiencing life without judgment. In our sessions, presence is not a technique but the ground from which everything else grows. It’s the space where your system can remember that it is not alone, where pain can be met with compassion and transformed into purpose.

Learning and living

As you explore this path, you might discover value in different ways: learning about trauma and the nervous system, hearing my perspective on the existential situation, or simply having space to feel and be seen. Each person’s process is unique, and we’ll find together what serves you best in a given moment.

And just as important as learning is remembering not to work too hard at it. Give yourself permission to slow down, to rest, and to touch into the simple dignity of being human. Let yourself do the kinds of things that have always nourished people: dance, sing, breathe deeply, listen to music or a story, walk without a goal, make art, lie under a tree, spend time with animals, enjoy the taste of fresh food, push your body against something heavy, move with the seasons. Even a few moments of this kind of living can feed the process in ways no book or session ever could.

Closing and an Invitation

That’s all for now. Thank you for showing up. I look forward to the work we may do together.

If what you’ve read here resonates with you, I’d be glad to connect. You can explore more about my practice here, or reach out directly to schedule an initial session. The first couple of sessions are simply about getting to know one another, and seeing if this work feels like a good fit for you.

Spoke Through: Wheel Talk on Love, Trauma, and Transformation

Welcome to Spoke Through — a place where words and silence meet in the turning of a wheel that’s never quite true, and yet always moving.

This blog is born from the work beneath the work — the place where psychology, spirituality, trauma, and transformation weave together with the quiet mystery of simply being alive.

I’ve long been drawn to the metaphor of the wheel — its center, the rim, and the many spokes that hold it all in fragile balance. A wheel is never perfect; it bends, it creaks, it sometimes wobbles. Yet it keeps rolling forward.

Spoke Through is both a nod and a prayer. It nods to the spoke — that slender, often overlooked piece of structure that carries weight and connects us to the whole. It’s also a prayer to the process of speaking through our wounds, our silences, our fears — letting what wants to be heard find its way.

Here, I’ll share reflections from my own journey and from the practice I call Truing the Wheel. It’s about leaning into tension instead of avoiding it, holding the crooked parts with curiosity and care, and discovering what truth sounds like when it’s spoken through imperfection.

This isn’t a place for easy answers or quick fixes. It’s an invitation to slow down, listen deeply, and sit with the mystery of what it means to be whole — not by being flawless, but by being fully present.

Thanks for coming along. The wheel’s turning, and the spoke has something to say.

— Peter