Eugene Therapy for Anxiety, C-PTSD, & Grief

That familiar panic before thesis committee meetings — not because you're unprepared, but because you're terrified they'll see you as inadequate. Your research is solid, but your inner critic has already written the script of how they'll judge you. You rehearse not just your presentation, but every possible way they might find fault with you as a person.

The inability to accept anything less than perfect in your relationships. You analyze every interaction with your advisor, wondering if that pause meant disapproval. You replay conversations with friends, searching for signs that you said something wrong, that you're too much, that they're pulling away.

Declining social invitations because being "on" feels exhausting. You can't just be yourself — you have to be the version of yourself that won't be rejected. Academic events feel like performance opportunities where one wrong move could expose you as a fraud. You'd rather stay home than risk feeling like an imposter.

Relationships that used to feel safe now feel threatening. You moved here hoping for a fresh start, but you keep finding yourself in the same patterns: getting close to someone, then pulling away when they start to matter. The vulnerability feels too dangerous, like handing someone a weapon.

Feeling flooded when conflict arises, even minor disagreements. Someone disagrees with your research approach or seems slightly annoyed, and your nervous system goes into full emergency mode. You either shut down completely or find yourself over-explaining, desperate to fix whatever went wrong.

Watching your relationships suffer because you can't trust that people won't leave. Your dating relationships follow the same pattern: initial connection, growing closeness, then that familiar terror that they'll discover you're not worth staying for. You start pulling away first, or sabotaging things before they can reject you.

Family dynamics that feel impossible to navigate, especially around achievements. Your successes never feel like enough, and you find yourself either overachieving to get approval or underachieving to avoid the pressure. Either way, you end up feeling like you're performing your life instead of living it.

The daily internal commentary that never stops. Every interaction gets analyzed: Did I talk too much? Was I boring? Do they think I'm weird? The commute becomes time for your inner critic to replay every social mistake from the day.

The isolation that comes with feeling fundamentally different from everyone around you. You're surrounded by other students, but you feel like you're speaking a different language. They seem to navigate relationships and stress so easily, while you're constantly worried about saying the wrong thing or being too much.

The exhaustion of constantly monitoring yourself and others. You can't relax because you're always scanning for signs of disapproval, rejection, or abandonment. Social events that should be fun become endurance tests where you perform the version of yourself you think people want to see.

The sudden and unexpected loss that shattered your world and left you unable to function in your "normal" academic life. Everyone expects you to bounce back after a few weeks, but you can't concentrate on research when your loved one's voice still echoes in your head. Doing something “normal” like going to the library feels impossible when grief hits in waves.

That disorienting fog where you go through the motions — attending seminars, meeting deadlines - but you feel like you're watching your life from the outside. Your professors and classmates have no idea you're barely holding it together, that some days getting dressed feels like a monumental achievement.

The isolation of being surrounded by people who've never experienced significant loss. They offer well-meaning advice about "getting back out there" or "staying busy," not understanding that grief isn't a problem to be solved. You nod and smile, but inside you're screaming that nothing will ever be the same.

The guilt that comes with any moment of normalcy or joy. Laughing at something funny feels like a betrayal. Enjoying a meal or getting absorbed in your research makes you panic… are you forgetting them? Are you moving on too quickly? The grief becomes complicated by shame about how you're grieving.