Harness the Power of Attunement in Your Marketing

deepen your X while increasing your bottom line

A therapist’s life is full of chairs.

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Like the dinner table chair that sat in your childhood home...

...where you were served meals of hidden meanings and casual invalidation. You’ve always wanted to understand the unspoken. And let’s be frank, if the DSM was a card game, your family would be a royal flush.

But you’ve never had a poker face, only a heart that bled for every abandoned puppy at the pound. You journaled religiously, seeking to make sense of what it was you really felt, underneath all the polite niceness required of you.

A therapist’s life is full of chairs…

Like the minimally-padded chairs that populated your grad school...

Gray and inflexible, they sculpted your body as surely as your professors’ aimed to sharp your skill.

You took copious notes about what a therapist ought to be, now buried away in a stacks of partially used college-ruled notebooks. You don’t forget the oaths you took–the promise to be who you once needed is tattooed on your heart in a kind of sacred ink, as surely as your student loans are signed in your blood.


A therapist’s life is full of chairs…

Like the bought-in-bulk, office chairs at your first agency job, fresh out of grad school.

Ready to pay your dues, you eagerly soaked up everything. You carried your caseload home with you, tucked literally and metaphorically into your backpack. Friday evenings reserved for The Great British Baking Off and catching up on the never-ending backlog of notes and treatment plans.

You followed all the rules and supposed became a shining success.

And all you’ve gotten in return is burnout you pretend not to feel, a laughably small cost-of-living pay increase, and the nagging sensation that you’re trapped in some repetition compulsion bullshit.

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Back in those profoundly uncomfortable chairs in grad school...

You used to dream of having your own practice …


…about an office that felt as safe as it is beautiful, a sanctuary to explore the mysteries of the psyche.


…about the clients who would delight you with their curiosity and vulnerability, willing to invest heart and wallet to do the hard work of therapy.


…about work that wouldn’t just transform the individual client, but had the power to change the world–in quietly dramatic ways.

The chair in that office would hold you unlike any chair that came before.

Maybe you’d get it custom designed–built to suit you and what you need.

A therapist’s life is full of chairs…

Like the reasonably priced armchair you bought from Wayfair.

The fantasy had been that it would be your reading chair, but mostly, it just serves as your ‘how the hell am I actually going to build a private practice’ chair.

Because if you’re ever going to have that dream, you know that you’re going to have to figure out this marketing thing.

No matter where you turn, it seems obvious that what is required of you is to write–ideally your Psychology Today profile, and then on to your website–yet every time you sit down to write, you feel like the words run away and take all your hope and nascent dreams with them.


The real kicker? You love to write.

You’ve spent your whole life detailing heartbreak in excruciating detail–

in your adolescent journals with the ink bleeding from your tears and burgeoning depth.

in grad school’s reflection papers with the double spaced pages, articulating your history of trauma in 12 point New Times Roman.

in the casenotes where you distill clients’ pain into a handful of sentences, writing what feels like the liner notes for the psyche’s album of greatest hits.

But when it comes to writing your marketing materials.

That shit trips you up.

The problem is you’re so caught up in the desire to do “marketing right” that you’re missing the secret that all great artists know:

The rules were always meant to be broken.

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