Author: Dr. Gloria K Vanderhorst

Early Lessons in Value, Generosity, and Self-Discipline

A piggy bank is more than a container for coins, it’s a container for lessons. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how childhood rituals of saving, sharing, and spending shape lifelong habits of generosity, foresight, and self-worth.

Did you have one of these as a child? The piggy bank is so popular among young children. They come in a variety of sizes and colors.

I remember a small pink pig as the place where I kept my pennies. The pig’s belly had a silver disc that could be removed by inserting a nickel into a slot and giving it a quarter turn. The irony of needing a nickel to access my pennies was not lost on me. I remember that the nickel came out of my father’s pocket and went back there after the pig gave forth his belly bounty.

Where did I get the pennies? Pennies were the reward for acts of service. These would range from putting away laundry that fit in the drawers, to setting the table with all utensils correctly placed and napkins in the right spot. Other on-demand tasks were abundant, so the piggy was well stocked.

When he gave forth his bounty, there were requirements for usage. One third went to savings, one third went to charity, and I could choose the charity, leaving one third for me to spend. That seemed like a good plan overall, though I must admit there were times when I wanted to hoard all of those pennies for a special treat. Spending those pennies was easy, since we had a local grocery store just a block away. We lived in an alleyway, and the grocery was right at the end of it. Easy peasy.

So, what were my favorite treats? Mainly, anything chocolate would do, and in the summer, I liked those ice-cold orange push-up things that stained your lips and your clothes if you were not careful. Trust me, I was cautious. That stuff would not come out of a shirt, no matter what you did.

Early lessons are essential, particularly when it comes to money. I do not think many piggy banks are floating around anymore, and I wonder if elementary students have that responsibility today. Those early decisions about how to use my pennies were valuable. The division my parents imposed prepared me to consider others’ needs, imagine my future needs, and satisfy myself in the present.

That is an excellent system for living life. I am important, others are important, and the future is important for both of us. The piggy bank served a purpose.

Want to explore how childhood lessons about money shape adult habits? Visit Psychology Today’s article on teaching kids about money and values and Greater Good’s guide to how childhood lessons shape generosity.

If you’re reflecting on early lessons, financial habits, or emotional growth, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support clarity, balance, and resilience.

TROGLODYTE

Language, Logic, and the Power of Discovery

Some words are puzzles—and some are provocations. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how childhood curiosity, linguistic play, and cultural context shape our understanding of identity and insult.

When you are a child, adults like to challenge or tease you. Sometimes, they do this with language. They present a word, and the tone that accompanies it communicates something powerful and perhaps hurtful. Then they ask you to explain. Let’s look at this one. Hmmm. Let’s say you are in elementary school between 1st and 4th grade. The sound of this word is interesting, so you begin there, thinking of similar sounds that are familiar: dog, frog. One hopes you don’t know grog yet, but one never knows. Given the associations that you know, some animal comes to mind. You think it must be big because the word is long. So far, good thinking. It matters not whether you are right or wrong. Your logic is sound, so you keep going.

The end of this word, “dyte,” must be significant. It sounds like an important word. Also, the spelling of this word seems important. Words with “y” in them tend to be fancy or old. So, you use your elementary school knowledge to wonder if this is an animal. You think of things that rhyme with it: might, sight, light. There are many possibilities, but rhyming doesn’t seem to fit. So, consider its shape: short, squat, even. As you say it out loud, your voice rises, and intensity comes automatically. Perhaps it is a powerful word. You almost want to move when you say it. There is something emphatic about the sound. Maybe it is some powerful animal from ancient times.

Now, let’s combine these ideas. We have an animal association that comes with power and a staccato ending with a punch. Perhaps this really is an animal of some kind. It could be an ancient animal that used to walk the earth but is no longer alive. That is an excellent guess because these long-vanished animals tend to have long, complicated names.

Perhaps this is an insult. I have heard it used in the past, and clearly, it is a putdown of the other. So, you challenge the adult who has presented this puzzle to you. You ask for some context or for them to use it in a sentence. “On the train coming home, I ran into a troglodyte who ran past me and pushed his way off the train.” Aha! I am on the right track. This is an insult! A troglodyte is a person who is rough or rude. I have solved the puzzle!

Want to explore the origins and cultural evolution of the word “troglodyte”? Visit Etymology World’s guide to troglodyte, Ultimate Lexicon’s breakdown of usage and meaning, and Merriam-Webster’s definition and examples.

If you’re reflecting on language, identity, or emotional impact, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support insight, healing, and self-expression.

What Scourges, and Other Hidden Threats, Reveal About Our Past and Ourselves

What comes to mind for you when you hear the word “scourge”?

My latest thought is lanternflies. They appeared last summer in the backyard, and at first I was fascinated by their bright, intricate markings. But then I read about them. These pests are native to Vietnam, China, and India, where natural predators keep them in check. Here in Maryland and Washington, DC, not so much. A friend believes local birds will eventually eat them, reducing their population. I worry it won’t happen soon enough to save my young birch trees.

Scourges have existed since the beginning of time, and some modern ones cause real havoc. The kudzu vine now blankets highways, trees, buildings, and power lines. Ironically, power lines might be better buried underground than left exposed.

A scourge is, in fact, an instrument of pain—a whip with added thongs to cut and tear flesh. Used for punishment or even self‑mutilation, these whips are brutal. Right now, I wish I could use one on those flies.

The word “scourge” can describe both a person and an instrument. When someone causes great suffering or destruction, we call them a scourge. Attila the Hun, for example, devastated people and property. Any dictator can be a scourge to those who suffer under their rule.

The lanternflies in my backyard likely arrived hidden in some edible cargo, such as fruit. They hid in plain sight. Our personal enemies can be the same—sometimes hiding right before us.

The parent meant to protect us can be monstrous and cruel. Cruelty may be overt—hitting and whipping—or covert, such as deception, undermining, or cloying solicitation that lulls us into comfort before betrayal. These histories get buried deep in our memories. Yet, even boxed up and unrecognized, they can leap into the present and throw us off.

A clear sign of the past resurfacing is repeated behavior that troubles you or a significant family member. When a behavior causes stress for others, the past is intruding. You want to uncover its history and squish it like a bug.

For more reflections on emotional development and the impact of past experiences, explore articles on Psychology Today and research from Greater Good Science Center.

If you recognize patterns resurfacing in your own life, therapy can help you understand where they began—and how to change them. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional healing and healthier relationships.

Why Talking About the End‑of‑Life Might Be One of the Healthiest Things We Do

It may feel grim, but preparing for the end of life is one of the most meaningful acts of clarity, courage, and love we can offer ourselves and the people who will one day carry out our wishes.

Ok, grim subject, I know. Yet an important one that seems to get glossed over quickly.

A recent Washington Post article details the process of a group of women who meet regularly to discuss the end. What a brilliant idea. First, you get to take yourself seriously and really think about this. We are all going to die, and so far, none of us has come back, though some have frozen their bodies, or parts thereof, for that very event. But that is another essay.

Back to the ladies. Their discussions provide a safe space and real feedback on a range of end‑of‑life topics. Who do you pick as the decision maker if you are not capable? How and where do you want to be buried? What kind of service do you want and why? There are tons of questions like these to face when looking at the end of your life.

There are also numerous decisions to be made as you head toward the end of your life. Do you stay in your present place or move? Do you want extraordinary measures taken to keep you breathing, or not? Who do you want to oversee your estate after you die? Why would you choose this person over that person? What if you do not have children, or they are not capable? Who steps into the decision‑making position then?

I mean, the issues can get right down to: What do you want to wear in your casket? Do you want a casket? If you are cremated and turn into ashes, what becomes of them?

One thing is for certain. All of us will die at some point and in some way. If we are fortunate enough to live a long life and make it into our 80s or 90s or beyond, how will we spend those last years? I know friends who want to travel to the end and die with their boots on. I know friends who want to snuggle up on the couch with a good book and go headfirst into the pages. I even know a few who are stockpiling lethal medicines so they can take themselves out at any point in time. We all have our desires.

The point is that sharing those desires is a great idea. These ladies, who have made themselves vulnerable by sharing their stories with a journalist, have real courage. Not many of us invite the public into our private lives. I admire them and thank them for making discussions about end‑of‑life decisions normal.

We are all headed there, so why not talk about it and be more planful? Why not get input from trusted friends, just like you did when planning your wedding or celebrating the birth of your first child? Why do this end‑of‑life planning alone? This is a real thing, so let us talk about it.

Want to explore more about end‑of‑life planning, emotional preparation, and meaning‑making? Visit Psychology Today’s reflections on aging and transitions and Greater Good’s research on mortality, purpose, and connection.

If thinking about these questions brings up emotion, uncertainty, or a desire for clarity, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support reflection, planning, and emotional peace.

What Maryland and DC’s Early Spring Teaches Us About Change, Loss, and Renewal

I love this time of year. Even the quick changes in weather are interesting.

This morning, the rain was fierce for two to three hours. If you were outside, you would be drenched within minutes. The rain poured so fast you could barely see through it. Yet just two hours later, the clouds drifted away, the sun bathed the windows in light, and a gentle breeze moved through the open rooms. Where are we? How can things change so fast?

Sometimes the volatility of the weather feels like the way my own moods shift—one moment overwhelming and all‑consuming, and the next unexpectedly peaceful. It makes me wonder whether nature’s abrupt transformations echo the rapid changes I feel inside, and whether accepting them is simply part of living through the seasons.

The storm also removed the last remnants of the cherry blossoms on the big tree out front. I miss the beautiful pink blossoms that are now just a pile of soggy mash on the driveway, sticking to shoes and tracking into the house. Those gorgeous things are now a nuisance. How can this be?

The cherry blossoms have always been more than a pretty sight. They are the season’s first promise—delicate, bright, and hopeful—arriving just when the world feels ready to wake up again. Seeing them scattered in the rain, their beauty gone so quickly, makes me think about how quickly wonderful moments slip away. Losing them stirs up a deep nostalgia, a reminder that everything I love is temporary, and that every beautiful moment, no matter how vibrant, will eventually pass. Their cycle of blooming and falling brings both loss and a gentle acceptance, as if nature is teaching me how to let go with grace.

This abrupt shift happens in other ways as well. The Sherry Baby orchid in the side window is dropping blossoms everywhere, and if you don’t pick them up soon, they stain the table and make a mess. What was most enjoyable only a short while ago is now an annoyance.

Perhaps this is the point. Pleasantries are fleeting, turning into memories we revisit but can never retain—much like cherry blossoms that bloom briefly and fade. I think about moments in my own life that slipped away too quickly: a conversation on a park bench I wished could have lasted longer, or a short visit from an old friend who moved away. Sometimes a certain laugh or smell brings those memories back for just a flash before they disappear again. Maybe their impermanence is what makes them precious.

Spring marks the start of a new season of growth and beauty that lasts only a short while before giving way to the next. It brings joy and memories that can be accessed at any time of year. We take pictures, record scenes, store memories, write stories, or send letters to friends in the desert who do not get to see the cherry trees.

In spring, everything starts over. Inspired, I begin again too.

I will start with cleaning out my closet. An object or a memory—it makes no difference. All must be reviewed and sorted. They call it spring cleaning for a reason. Everything accumulated over the winter is up for investigation. I have too many blankets and can never use them all. The charitable organization down the road will be glad to have them. My closet needs sorting, and several dresses and outfits will go to the local secondhand shop to find a new life.

As I sort through these belongings, I notice a mix of feelings bubbling up. Holding an old sweater, I remember the comfort it gave me in difficult moments and wonder if someone else will feel the same warmth. Some things are easy to let go of, while others tug at me, recalling memories I almost forgot. A single scarf or pair of shoes can bring back a flood of images from years ago. Sometimes I hesitate, feeling resistance to parting with pieces that carry a story. Yet as each item leaves the closet, I feel a gradual sense of relief and lightness—as though I’m making room for something new within myself as well.

If the cherry tree can start over, embracing change and renewal each season, so can I.

For more reflections on emotional growth and seasonal transitions, explore articles on Psychology Today and research from Greater Good Science Center.

If you are navigating your own season of change, therapy can help you understand what to release and what to carry forward. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional renewal and personal growth.

How Illness, Emotion, and Human History All Run a Little Hot – Temperature

Temperature isn’t just a number on a thermometer. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how heat, physical or emotional, reveals what’s happening beneath the surface.

I remember being a little kid and feeling sick. Mother, of course, got out the thermometer. You had to hold the thing in your mouth for a few minutes. As a kid, that is not easy. First, you don’t want to do this at all. I am glad they now have that “gun”-looking thing that you point at the forehead, and it reads your temperature. Second, the time you have to hold it in your mouth seems like an eternity. Kids are not good with eternity. You fidget and want to escape.

Germs do not care who you are or what you have planned for your day. They attack in their own time frame.

Remember that class trip in elementary school when you were excited to go with your friends for an overnight? Remember the measles that kept you home? Come on! Measles? Really? Where did that come from? Probably Richard W.—he seemed to carry every germ known to man.

Of course, illness is not the only thing that can jack up our temperature. Get a group together and throw out a controversial topic, and the room gets hot pretty fast. What are your hot buttons?

Our neighborhood has a hot topic traveling around the listserv. Someone wants to change the rules so that multi‑unit dwellings can invade this quaint neighborhood of individual houses. That is raising the temperature of most, if not all, of the homeowners. Think about the scene. Your three‑bedroom rancher, and on the neighboring lot will stand a four‑story high‑rise with eight apartments. The zoning will change to allow a tiny setback and no yard on the front, back, or sides of this brick monster. Clearly, the neighborhood will soon be filled with these smaller apartment buildings.

Where does this desire for an individual dwelling come from? Is it just a modern phenomenon? Not really. Humans have been building individual dwellings since 400,000 BC.

The earliest evidence of individual dwellings for families comes from a region of France where hunter‑gatherers built shelters or huts for their families. The desire to huddle together as a family runs deep.

Want to explore more about emotional triggers, community dynamics, and how our brains respond to stress? Visit Psychology Today’s reflections on emotional regulation and Greater Good’s research on belonging and human connection.

If this reflection stirs thoughts about stress, boundaries, or emotional temperature in your own life, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support clarity, grounding, and emotional resilience.

How the View Through a Window Can Reflect the Soul, Season, and Ourselves

Throughout the long winter, our windows are closed. Branches of nearby trees and bushes brush against the glass from time to time, reminding us that they are there, waiting to show off their beauty. The windows are double‑paned to protect us from the cold, and the mullions provide visual interest as we watch the snow fall, the wind whirl, and bundled walkers head for the bus stop.

In spring, the windows are raised or cranked open, and a beautiful breeze swirls throughout the room. The screens keep the flies and critters from assaulting us, but they allow pollen to join us in its irritating way. The pollen coats the car in a dirty yellow, like sifted flour. I know it will coat me as well if I spend much time outside. Fortunately, I am not allergic, but I can imagine the torture for those who are. That stuff is everywhere.

The pollen coats the windows too. That is why we schedule the window cleaners at the same time every year. That is a job we no longer want to do ourselves. We are long past climbing ladders and leaning over the edge. I am grateful for these cleaners. We can wash the screens—they can be pulled inside—but we leave the windows to the professionals.

The windows bring in the scent of the cherry blossoms as they bloom first, before the garden wakes up. Then the bulbs and ground covers appear, providing a colorful display, though most are not fragrant. The “eye candy” makes up for the lack of scent. Soon the flowers in the garden bloom, offering a lovely mix of fragrances depending on which side of the house you frequent.

I love the jasmine and the climbing roses, as well as the forsythia that bends over the fence. Perhaps my favorite is the clematis. We have three of them. One is quite large, having climbed up the pole for years. The other two are fairly new and need coaxing to stay on the trellis and get busy blooming. As the perennials open and the roses plump up, the garden becomes the place to be. Of course, there is plenty of work to keep you busy out there, but the joy and reward are worth the effort.

Sometimes I think the garden is the window to the soul.

For more reflections on seasonal renewal, emotional awareness, and the psychology of everyday life, explore articles on Psychology Today and research from Greater Good Science Center.

If you are navigating your own season of change or seeking clarity during a transition, therapy can help you understand what to nurture and what to release. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional growth and renewal.

THE BACKPACK

Childhood Trauma, Emotional Survival, and the Weight We Carry

Some backpacks hold more than clothes—they carry the invisible weight of fear, memory, and resilience. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how childhood trauma shapes emotional survival, and how healing begins with being seen, heard, and held.

She is twelve years old. Her parents have been fighting for as long as she can remember. One image seems emblazoned in her brain. She was five and huddled in the corner of the hallway outside the farmhouse kitchen. This is her favorite house. This is her third house in 3 years, and she remembers each one. Her parents have jumped from one state to another, and now they have landed in Arizona. It is hot here. Blazing hot. The bushes are not bushes; they are pincushions that will stab you if you get too close.

Her parents are fighting again. They seem to fight all the time now. She can’t quite remember when it started. She doesn’t remember shouting in the Indiana house, and she liked the snow in the winter. She and her Dad made a giant snowman that winter and the neighbors came out for a snowball fight. That was fun. Dad took the city bus to work, and Mom made jams that she sold at the local farm market. That was a good house, the smell of jam filled the downstairs. Strawberry was my favorite smell, and blueberry tasted the best.

Florida was a struggle. She knows many people look forward to going to Florida, but she has sworn she will never set foot in that state again. That’s where the fighting got intense. At first, they would wait until I was in bed, and the intensity would start in the living room. The concrete block house made the sound bounce from one wall to another. The living room was down this long hall, but the sound seemed to bounce from wall to wall all along the hall until it wound its way into her room, where it again bounced from wall to wall. She remembers hiding her head under both of her pillows and biting her lower lip to transfer the pain.

Here in Arizona, the fights have gotten worse. Things are thrown and get broken. The sound is intense. The threats are violent. Sometimes, Mom has bruises. Grabbing my knees and cowering in the corner feels like the only way to be safe. I will be safe if I can scrunch myself up and get smaller. Or maybe I will disappear like the girl escaping the witch in the movie. I wish to disappear. No place is safe. No one is safe. My backpack is stuffed with my PJs and George, the lion with his fur almost rubbed off, a pair of underwear, extra shorts, and one T-shirt. No socks, as I hate socks.

I know how this will go. The screaming will stop; the kitchen will be a mess; the father will collapse on the couch; the mother will go to her room and cry. I will sneak out the back door, down the alley, and three blocks later, I will be at the bus stop: the big one. I will disappear on the Greyhound. They will probably not even notice I am gone.

Want to explore how trauma shapes emotional development and survival strategies? Visit Dr. Christina Watlington’s guide to the invisible backpack of trauma, Resonance Ed’s reflections on trauma-informed care, and Resilience.org’s insights on emotional burdens and healing.

If you’re reflecting on childhood trauma, emotional safety, or healing, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support insight, resilience, and recovery.

What Bridges Teach Us About Connection, Work, and the Repair of Relationships

What comes to mind when you see that word?

If you are from the older generation, you might recall your dentist and the hardware in your mouth. If you have young children, you may picture the Lego Bridge Building Challenge and the thousands of little bricks scattered across your family room floor. As a traveler, you may think of the gorgeous structures you’ve seen, like my granddaughter walking the Brooklyn Bridge, which was a thrill. If you’ve been alienated from a friend or family member, you may be thinking about bridging the gap between you. And then there are the romantics remembering Beau Bridges, the actor and award‑winning director.

Bridges connect us, physically and emotionally. Building and maintaining these bridges is essential to forming and sustaining relationships.

Bridges are strong, and their supports run deep. I remember reading about the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge, when manual labor was required to set and secure the base. Rudimentary breathing apparatus made it possible to work underwater, but the death of some workers was inevitable. That magnificent structure cost the lives of 20 to 30 men. When you realize the construction took about 14 years, you have to marvel at both the engineering and the labor.

The metaphor is clear: bridges take time to build, require careful planning to last, and must be maintained and repaired.

Some repairs are extensive, with old parts scrubbed and new ones designed. This applies to friendships as well. Old injuries must be named, processed, and removed for genuine repair—work that demands effort and maturity. Repair is a labor of love and persistence, while maintenance means staying vigilant for damage and wear. Friends have sensitive spots, and once a wound is opened, it must be tended carefully until strength returns.

Bridges must also be appreciated for their value. Crossing the East River is an amazing time‑saver and far safer than taking a river boat, especially in winter. Friendships deserve appreciation too. Knowing important events in your friends’ lives allows you to honor them and draws you closer.

Express your appreciation for your friends. Your effort to strengthen these bridges defines their importance.

For more reflections on relationships, emotional repair, and human connection, explore articles on Psychology Today and research from Greater Good Science Center.

If you are navigating a strained relationship or hoping to rebuild a bridge in your own life, therapy can help you understand the history, the hurt, and the path toward repair. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional healing and stronger connections.