Family Estrangement: How Filters Might Offer a Way Forward When Boundaries Can Not

Tall, Anxious, and In Need of Community: A Therapist’s Reflection When I was 12 years old—well, technically the summer I turned 13—I was already 6’1”. That summer, I grew to 6’6”. The summer after that? Another inch. And again the next year. I stopped at 6’8”. Catch your breath before realizing just how tall that is. I’ve heard every tall joke you can imagine: “How’s the weather up there?” “Do you play basketball?” “Where do you even buy your pants?” The comments were constant. Today, they don’t bother me as much. I’ve done enough work over the years. But it wasn’t always like that. You might wonder why it ever bothered me at all—aside from the growing pains, stretch marks, and the near-impossibility of finding clothes. But the comments weren’t what hurt the most. It was the rejection. The laughter. The public humiliation. I remember one moment vividly. I was walking behind two guys from my basketball team—one I thought was a friend. He wasn’t. He turned to my actual friend and mocked me. Said I was “goofy,” “too long,” and “barely able to run.” He had no idea I was behind him. But I was. When he turned around and saw me standing right there, the look on his face changed. “Oh man, you know I was just kidding,” he stammered. But I didn’t know what to say. I stood there, caught between embarrassment and fury, shame and silence. I knew I was awkward. I didn’t need someone else to say it. That was the year it really got to me. I went from coordinated and skilled to unsure and lanky. I grew five inches in three and a half months. At one point, I was 6’6” and weighed just 160 pounds. At my high school peak, I was 6’8” and 185. It’s hard to feel strong when your body feels like scaffolding. But it wasn’t just physical awkwardness that created emotional turmoil. Anxiety runs in my family. I heard stories of my dad and my grandmother sitting around talking about what worried them. I never got to meet my grandmother—she died of breast cancer before I was born—but I’ve been told she was too afraid to go to the doctor. Too afraid to drive. In all other ways, she was described as an amazing woman: kind-hearted, loving, godly, generous, and gentle. The same words could be used to describe my father. But anxiety was part of their story. And I learned from them. From their stories. From watching my dad over the years. Anxiety, I discovered, is a coping mechanism. Being tall didn’t cause my anxiety. But it became the vehicle through which it rode in. I was teased, ostracized, isolated. I longed to be accepted—not even admired, just accepted. I understood theology early. I loved Jesus. But I still wanted friends, connection, community. For many therapists, we believe we’re immune. We sit on the healing side of the couch. We’re the ones who help others work through the hard stuff. But around 7 or 8 years ago, I realized: I needed therapy too. And I needed it badly. Reprocessing those middle school memories—especially from grades 6 to 9—was painful. EMDR brought them back up like an unexpected flood. I’ve had clients look at me with tears and confusion after an EMDR session and ask, “What did you do to me?” My answer is always the same: “We’re pulling up 50 years of emotion that’s been stuffed away. Of course it’s going to hurt.” I know this pain. I’ve lived it. And though I’ve grown into my frame and healed many wounds, I still wrestle with feeling out of place. Fitting in hasn’t always come easy. Some of my closest friendships today are with the faculty I teach alongside at Colorado Christian University. They’ve lived through sorrow. Some have battled self-harm. Some have survived abuse. Many have carried the burdens of others long before they knew how to carry their own. We need those kinds of people. The ones who sit with us in the pain. Who don’t look away. Who don’t offer platitudes. We need real community. Tim Keller once described true love as love that is given without requirement. Love without condition, like Christ’s love for us (Keller, 2011). We cannot love that way until we have dealt with our own stories. Until we’ve stopped pretending our pain is irrelevant or distant. Until we’ve stopped minimizing how our past has shaped our present. Therapists, I believe, are uniquely shaped by pain. We often have higher expectations of people—not because we’re judgmental, but because we’ve seen what people are capable of when they’re at their worst and still hoping for healing. But that healing begins with us, too. At Remnant Counselor Collective, and in my own life, my prayer is that we create spaces of community like this—where we give without expecting, love without requiring, and serve without resenting. I don’t need to be accepted by some snotty high schoolers anymore. I need to walk closely with Jesus and surround myself with those who do the same. And maybe you need that too. References Keller, T. (2011). The meaning of marriage: Facing the complexities of commitment with the wisdom of God. Dutton.

The Birth of Remnant Counselor Collective: A Refuge for Christian Mental Health Professionals When I first began studying psychology in 2000, I approached it with wide-eyed innocence. I believed that helping people heal, manage emotions, and overcome mental illness was a straightforward calling—one rooted in compassion and care. I had no reason to think it would be anything but a noble pursuit. But as I progressed in my studies, I began to realize that the field wasn’t just about science or service; it carried deep cultural tensions that shaped what could be discussed, how issues were framed, and even which perspectives were welcomed. I had no idea that psychology—and the work of helping people heal—was so deeply politicized. The Church’s Skepticism As a Christian, I noticed early on that many in the church were skeptical, if not outright dismissive, of mental health work. These were the same people who wouldn’t hesitate to see a doctor for a broken leg or a heart condition, yet they viewed seeking professional help for anxiety, depression, or relational struggles as unnecessary—or even unbiblical. The stigma was glaring. The Field’s Hostility On the other side, when I entered the field after completing my undergrad and master’s degrees, I encountered an entirely different challenge: hostility toward Christianity. Many agencies and private practices, if not explicitly Christian, were openly antagonistic toward the faith. At professional conferences, I heard stories from colleagues about how those with even moderately conservative values were shouted down, dismissed, or made to feel unwelcome. Some described these gatherings as more akin to political rallies than professional discussions. Those who held differing views often stayed silent, watching as ideas that ranged from unhelpful to outright unhealthy were presented as unquestionable truth. Christian mental health professionals find themselves walking a tightrope. We face skepticism from the church and hostility from the field—all while simply wanting to serve, to help people heal, and to provide compassionate, evidence-based care. The Loneliness of Christian Therapists This tension creates a profound sense of loneliness for many of us. I’ve struggled to make friends at church, where my profession is often misunderstood. In my personal life, even within my own family, I’ve been accused of “analyzing” people when all I was trying to do was engage in thoughtful, meaningful conversation. It makes me wonder—have our society’s conversational and relational skills eroded so much that simply listening well and asking good questions is seen as intrusive? I’m not psychoanalyzing people. I’m just being present. So why is that a problem? Why Remnant Counselor Collective Exists These experiences—the loneliness, the skepticism from the church, and the hostility from the secular field—are part of why we created Remnant Counselor Collective. Christian therapists, social workers, psychologists, and psychiatrists often feel isolated. We struggle to find spaces where we can be fully ourselves—both as mental health professionals and as believers. The church doesn’t always feel safe, and the secular field rarely does. I’ve had conversations with colleagues who unknowingly expressed deep disdain for Christianity, mocking faith-based counseling as bigoted—without realizing they were talking to a Christian therapist. This is the kind of environment many of us navigate daily. Remnant Counselor Collective exists as a refuge. It’s a place where Christian mental health professionals can consult, connect, and speak honestly about clinical matters from a biblical perspective. It’s a space where we don’t have to defend our faith or tiptoe around our beliefs. Here, we uphold biblical truth. We reject anything that contradicts Scripture—anything that belittles our faith or undermines the core doctrines of Christianity. And we do this while engaging in honest, respectful conversations about complex clinical and ethical issues, always keeping our relationship with Jesus at the center. A Soft Revolution The name Remnant Counselor Collective isn’t just about being a refuge—it’s about being a people. In Scripture, the remnant is the group God sets apart for His glory. We don’t want to simply retreat. We want to be a soft revolution—a voice in the field that pushes back against unhealthy, unwise, and even foolish trends. We want to sharpen and strengthen each other so that our presence in the mental health profession is effective and impactful. Refuge. Sharpen. Strengthen. Honor. Refuge – A safe community where Christian mental health professionals can be themselves without fear of judgment. Sharpen – A space where we challenge and encourage one another to grow in both our faith and our clinical expertise. Strengthen – A community that equips us to navigate the challenges of the field with wisdom, resilience, and biblical truth. Honor – Keeping Christ at the center of our work, our discussions, and our professional decisions so that everything we do reflects His glory. By embracing these values, we enrich our own lives, combat loneliness, and—ultimately—create a lasting impact on the world. This isn’t just a ministry for us. It’s a mission for the good of society.