The Smooth Talker: On Love, Boundaries, and the Lives We Hold as Therapists
This story is a composite drawn from real therapeutic themes and is shared for educational purposes. No identifying information.
He was the kind of person you’d notice the first moment you stepped into any room.
Yes, even in a room full of people — he would stand out.
It wasn’t that he was the tallest guy in the room. He was tall, but not the tallest. It was the presence. The kind that draws you in before you can even name why.
You’d feel compelled to go over and talk to him. To get to know him. Because he was engaging. Charismatic.
Charming. And, yes — good looking.
He had dimples in the most perfect places and when he smiled, his bright white teeth would light up the room. He was that bright, magnetic energy that seemed to fill any space he was in.
But what was interesting — if you lingered long enough, if you really paid attention — was that he also had a certain rigidity.
You wouldn’t notice it right away, but over time you’d sense it.
A subtle frustration. Or maybe a disconnect.
It would be hard to place your finger on, but if you spent enough time around him, you’d feel something slightly… off. That kind of push-pull energy that makes you lean in, but also keeps you at arm’s length.
Who was this guy I’m referring to?
He was the ex-husband of a client I’d worked with for four years.
And over those years, we did incredible work together — deep, painful, meaningful work.
I got to know of him through her process. Through her heartbreak, her healing, her boundaries, her parenting, her rediscovering of herself.
But our work went far beyond him. We explored her career, her creativity, her energy, her capacity to love again.
Still, like in many attachment healing journeys, he was part of her nervous system’s story — how she learned to stay too long, tolerate too much, and confuse intensity for intimacy.
Then one day, I went to a party.
And there he was.
It’s always fascinating when I meet someone I’ve only known through a client’s story.
He spotted me, and for a second, I saw the flicker of recognition — that half-smile people make when they’re not sure how they know you.
Something about seeing him —stayed with me.
He was exactly as I imagined… and also not at all.
You realize that no story is one-dimensional.
That no person is only a villain or a victim.
That healing isn’t about assigning blame — it’s about reclaiming energy and truth from where it’s been stuck.
As I watched him laugh across the room, I could see why she’d been drawn to him.
The charm was real. The confidence was magnetic.
But beneath it, there was a kind of restlessness — the kind you can’t soothe with attention or affection.
When she first came to therapy, she didn’t want to hate him anymore.
What she really wanted was to stop losing herself in love.
To stop collapsing her boundaries in the name of connection.
That’s the work we did — helping her notice what safety actually felt like in her body.
Helping her learn to recognize when her nervous system was calm versus when it was bracing for rejection.
That’s the work of somatic therapy — not just understanding love cognitively, but feeling it somatically.
As Dr. Sue Johnson writes,
“Love is not the icing on the cake of life; it is a basic, primary need — as fundamental as air and water.”
For her, that love needed to start inside.
As the evening went on, I saw beyond his external demeanor. I saw a flicker of his pain.
A man who had perfected the art of charm but hadn’t yet learned the language of emotional safety.
A man whose connection skills were stuck in performance, not presence.
It made me think of something Esther Perel once said:
“We fall in love with the mystery of another, and stay in love when we learn to meet that mystery with truth.”
He hadn’t learned that yet.
And maybe that’s not his fault. Maybe that’s part of his work.
Driving home that night, I thought about how unique it is to be a therapist.
We live in an unusual kind of way.
We give so much to others’ stories — to their loves, their losses, their healing — and we carry those echoes quietly into our own lives.
We know love from both sides of the room:
the one who’s healing from it, and the one continuously learning how to offer it.
It’s strange, often sacred, always humbling work.
And maybe that’s what I keep learning — that being human, being in love, and being in healing all require the same thing:
presence, curiosity, and the willingness to stay.
Now, turning to you dear reader,
If You’re Healing from Relational Patterns…
If you’re in a season of rebuilding after relational pain — trying to understand the patterns that keep showing up, or the people you keep attracting — there’s space for that work here.
Through somatic therapy in NYC and attachment-based counseling, we explore how the nervous system learns love, safety, and connection.
👉 Click here to book a free 15-minute consultation or call 347-903-7835.
For Therapists and Psychologists
If you’re a therapist who holds stories like these every day — navigating the complexity of love, trauma, and transformation —
I invite you to apply for the Trauma Mastery & Consultation Program.
It’s a high-touch mentorship for seasoned clinicians wanting to deepen their confidence with attachment healing, somatic therapy, and trauma-informed presence.
Applications are by invite only. Click here to learn more or apply
P.S.Before you go, grab your free download: “Somatic Skills to Regulate Your Nervous System.”
It’s a simple, embodied guide to help you ground and stay steady — in your work, in love, and in life.