Author: Dr. Gloria K Vanderhorst

Remembering Sacrifice, Loss, Cherishing Memory, and Choosing Daily Acts of Respect

As Memorial Day nears, I find myself deeply moved by the experience of loss. The recent passing of a cherished long‑term friend stirs both sadness and gratitude in my heart. He was gentle and compassionate, bringing warmth into the lives he touched. His work stood as a beacon of excellence, his guidance of his daughters was filled with wisdom and tenderness, his unwavering love for his wife inspired admiration, and his service to his country was selfless and brave.

Living near Washington, D.C., I am surrounded by memorials that echo the sacrifices of countless men and women. The city’s monuments are silent witnesses to the hopes, dreams, and heartbreak of those who built this nation with their lives. Every Memorial Day, I am reminded to feel gratitude for the unimaginable loss that allows me to wake each morning in peace.

Visiting the national battlefields near my home is always profoundly moving. The hallowed grounds of Manassas, Monocacy, Antietam, Ox Hill, South Mountain, Fredericksburg, Spotsylvania, and Gettysburg are steeped in the memory of lives freely given for unity. Standing there, I am enveloped by the sense of sacrifice and the unspoken stories of anguish, courage, and hope embedded in the soil.

The memorial at Pearl Harbor brings forth powerful reminders of our vulnerability and the heavy toll paid to defend freedom in World War II. Decades earlier, H.G. Wells’s hope in calling World War I “the war to end all wars” speaks to the longing for a peaceful resolution. Yet sorrow fills me as I see that mankind has not broken free from the cycle of conflict, and wars continue to claim lives around the world.

We struggle to find peace with one another and show true respect. Achieving this requires recognizing the profound value of sacrifice in daily life. On a summer night, turning down the boombox becomes an act of compassion for a weary neighbor. Sharing block‑party plans is not just a courtesy, but a gesture of understanding and care that lets neighbors find moments of quiet or gather joy elsewhere.

As you hang your flag on Monday, May 26, take a moment to express gratitude for the sacrifices made — and commit to practicing respect and understanding in your daily life as a way to honor those who gave everything.

For more reflections on grief, remembrance, and the psychology of honoring loss, explore articles on Psychology Today and research from Greater Good Science Center.

If you are navigating grief or reflecting on the meaning of loss, therapy can offer space for understanding, healing, and remembrance. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional resilience and compassionate processing.

The Fabric We All Know, But Rarely Stop to Understand

You will immediately have associations with that word. Perhaps a ragged, fringed pair of jeans you wore as a teen, or a sleek, tight‑fitting pair you sported at the local bar hoping to catch someone’s eye. Maybe you had a duffel bag made of the stuff, or a sturdy laundry bag that survived years of use.

I remember a pair of overalls that were so adorable on my toddler that they were worn constantly. And who can forget the denim jacket from high school? Denim is sturdy, dependable, and always shows up. But how much do we really know about this fabric?

Surprisingly, denim is French. Truly. I was certain it was an American invention rooted somewhere in the West, tied to cowboys and cattle drives. Apparently not.

Denim dates back to the 17th century — far earlier than Levi’s. French weavers, experimenting with fabric, developed a cotton twill using two different threads: one indigo and one white. The weave was perfect: strong, durable, nearly indestructible. Even more surprising, the earliest versions blended wool and silk. Who would think to marry those two? Yet they proved the old adage: opposites attract.

This fabric was designed as a workhorse. Laborers needed clothing that could take a beating and keep coming back. Denim delivered. Railroad workers and manual laborers across France embraced it because it held up to anything the workday demanded.

Denim originated in Nîmes, France — hence “de Nîmes,” which became “denim.” Nîmes sits in southern France and carries a distinctly Roman feel in its architecture. It was a major city in the Roman Empire, nestled between hills and plains, with roots reaching back to the Bronze Age. After the Roman conquest, the Arena of Nîmes was built around 100 AD and remains beautifully preserved today. If you want a Roman gladiator experience, go to Nîmes.

Just be sure to wear your jeans.

For more reflections on history, culture, and the psychology of everyday objects, explore articles on Psychology Today and research from Greater Good Science Center.

If you are exploring how memory, identity, or personal history shapes your present life, therapy can help you understand and deepen those connections. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional insight, resilience, and growth.

RAIN

Memory, Motion, and the Music of Moisture

Rain doesn’t just fall—it arrives with stories. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how rain evokes memory, nourishes the earth, and invites us into sensory presence and emotional connection.

Outside my kitchen sliding door, gentle rain falls on the deck. I can see the individual drops hitting the rocking chair and bouncing up about an inch before falling again. Interestingly, each drop does only one bounce. Those same drops are falling on the skylight above the stove and again bouncing before settling down on the glass and running down the pane. The sound of it on the skylight is mesmerizing.

The rain is fascinating today, and I wonder where it comes from. Ok. I know it falls from the sky, but I feel that this rain has been on the road and comes from far away.

This rain is not a virga, but I bet it comes close. Virga is rain that falls from the clouds and evaporates before it reaches the ground because the air is so dry that the raindrops dry up. We have been dry here for months. The shrubs and the flower garden show the effects. Even the River Birch is showing signs of stress. Given global warming, I am expecting more of this!

Wind can transport rain over long distances. Perhaps this sweet rain was meant for my cousins in the Midwest. Sorry, cousins, but we need this stuff. The garden is dry, and the watering can will not cut it. I cannot afford a sprinkler system right now, though I would love one.

I have also learned that we could have a “sun shower”. A “sun shower” is rain that has been carried from one location to another so that it falls on a perfectly sunny day in its new location. This could be called “Liquid Sunshine”. A town in Alaska called Ketchikan is famous for this type of rain. I was told they measure this rain with a gauge called “Liquid Sunshine”. I will ask my friends in Alaska to send some of that here.

The slow tap on the skylight could lull one to sleep, but I have work to do. I am making Lemon Squares as a treat for my family. These are delicious, with a cookie-crumb base and a lemon-gooey topping. I like to cut them into bite-sized squares so that they melt away when you toss them into your mouth. A rainy day is good for baking. The sound of the rain keeps you company, and the smell of the cookies as they bake stirs memories.

My mother loved to bake and was quite good at it. All sorts of cookies, cakes, and pies would come from her kitchen. A long time ago, my sister put together a cookbook with all of Mom’s recipes. By now, the corners of that book are bent; every page is dog-eared multiple times, and sticky fingerprints decorate several of the recipes. One of my favorite things about that book is that my granddaughters pull it out to make cookies or yeast rolls. The rolls are delicious!

I am grateful for these memories as I listen to the rain and wait for the cookies to bake.

Want to explore how rain evokes memory and emotional connection? Visit Psychologs’ reflections on rainy days and memory, Green Living Tribe’s guide to the smell of rain and mental health, and NeuroLaunch’s breakdown of rain psychology.

If you’re reflecting on sensory memory, emotional connection, or seasonal rhythms, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support insight, healing, and emotional presence.

Why Every Generation Fears the Next Big Leap, Until It Becomes Ordinary

Every era has its turning point, an invention that feels unsettling at first, then becomes so essential we can’t imagine life without it. AI is simply the next one.

My grandparents started their married life in a “lean‑to” on several acres in the middle of Indiana. For those of you who do not know what a “lean‑to” is, I will elaborate. This is a shelter made of branches with one end buried in the ground and the other heading skyward. Several are put together, and the front parts are held up by upright branches, thus forming an open front and a closed back. Blankets or skins form a curtain across the front of the shelter. Now, I am sure they were relieved to eventually move into a cabin, and then a house, and by the time I came along, they had a rambling farmhouse.

Now, what is the point? Times change and life advances. Those steeped in tradition resist. For example, my Uncle Johnnie did not put in an indoor toilet until I was about 12. Think of that during an Indiana winter.

AI is the next essential convenience, much like indoor plumbing. The analogy holds up.

AI will flush out the ring binder that you used to carry around to every class. AI will write better essays and research more details in seconds than you can in hours. Will AI make some mistakes? Sure.

There are so many advances we can point to that were initially resisted but later embraced for the long term. We no longer look to miss “road apples” on the street. We drive from England to France. We call friends on other continents. We send messages around the world in seconds, and we can do the same with bombs if we so choose.

When college students cross the stage to receive diplomas and acknowledge their computers, their tribute to AI is understandable.

How might AI change your life? Airplanes quickly take you to Florida. Cars let you run errands all day. The comparison is clear.

AI is here to stay and will soon be serving you daily, just like every other invention. The fear is that AI could act independently. We are already being cautious about who can manage this intelligence. Anthropic refused to give the U.S. government unrestricted access to its AI technology. Powerful, or perhaps wise. This is the next frontier, and access is the key question. Who can know how it works? Who can control it? Or can you control it? Movies have explored the fear of AI taking over, and that is the concern.

Every generation faces a moment when the future feels too big, too fast, too unfamiliar. And yet, we adapt. We learn. We integrate. AI will be no different, another tool that reshapes our lives, challenges our assumptions, and ultimately becomes part of the everyday landscape.

For more reflections on technology, adaptation, and emotional resilience, visit Psychology Today’s essays on human behavior and change and Greater Good’s research on innovation and well‑being.

If AI stirs curiosity, anxiety, or questions about how we adapt to rapid change, therapy can help you explore those feelings with clarity and grounding. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional flexibility in a changing world.

Why the Boy You Once Were Still Shapes the Man You Are Adult Identity

What would the eight-year-old boy you were think of you now?

Where were you at age eight? What surrounded you? Who influenced you most then? Would you want to revisit—or relive—that time?

Eight-year-olds mark a pivotal point in life. They possess significant family memories and are still sensitive, with a sense of place, belonging, and rich recollections of people and attachments that shape their emotional history.

Your eight-year-old self is a powerful place to begin when exploring your emotional history. At that age, you had family, school, and community contexts that shaped your identity. The experiences of this stage are formative and establish a sense of self that can endure for decades.

Were you the outstanding student? The class clown? The fast runner? The cute guy? The tough guy? These labels tend to stick and influence us long after childhood ends.

One man I worked with remembers a magic set he received for his birthday—he used it to entertain his family for years. Another recalls being old enough to serve as a laborer for his father, acting as the household handyman. Another has a vivid memory of going to bed with a toy rifle every night as a protective object—keeping him safe from monsters and, likely, from his father as well.

Examining your eight-year-old self sharpens your understanding of your emotional history. The contexts and labels from this stage shape your lasting sense of self, influencing how you view yourself and how you relate to others.

Change is possible, but once a label is established, it embeds itself deeply. Perhaps you were the pudgy kid in class, but now, as a grown man, you have the body of an Iron Man—yet still think of yourself as the outcast who was teased. You may hyperfocus on physique, obsess over your appearance, and even project that focus onto your wife and children. They may not understand why it matters so much, and you may not either—until you revisit that elementary school boy who felt ostracized and shamed.

Once established, childhood labels influence adult behavior and self-perception. Revisiting your eight-year-old self helps explain enduring obsessions, insecurities, and emotional patterns rooted in memories from this formative time.

Your eight-year-old self continues to shape your present. Reflecting on how childhood memories and labels influence your thoughts, feelings, and actions reveals how your past now undermines—or drives—you.

For more reflections on emotional development, identity, and the psychology of early experience, explore articles on Psychology Today and research from Greater Good Science Center.

If you are curious about how your childhood continues to shape your adult life, therapy can help you understand the roots of your emotional patterns and begin meaningful change. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional insight, healing, and growth.

What Spring Gardens Teach Us About Childhood, Resilience, and Emotional Growth

The garden is a great place for thinking. You can go there as often as you want. Things change every day and every week. You can look forward to what comes next, enjoy new growth, or deal with new problems.

Our garden is just coming to life after the winter. As I reflect on this, I notice that spring cannot decide whether to stay. Temperatures fluctuate between early winter and early spring. I imagine little flower shoots confused and hurt by the volatility—much like children in an unstable household. One day, the parents are kind and engaging. The next day, they are cruel and raging.

Some garden plants are hardy and adapt to the ups and downs of the weather. The rose bush, tender and small, has not survived, but the clematis stands strong and determined. I am grateful for its resilience and vibrant blooms, especially as the vine flourishes in midspring.

Families can be unpredictable, and children absorb these experiences. As they grow, the wounds from early conflict remain with them. Stress at home shapes their relationships, whether they realize it or not. I’ve heard men talk about violence between their parents as if it were a movie unrelated to them. But violence at home is not easy to ignore. Like frost harms plants, violence quiets parts of us—and that history affects the present.

The garden is also shaped by its past. When preparing the soil, we had to add bags of peat to the heavy clay. Clay is good for staying firm and providing stability, but it is not good for growing soft, delicate plants. Their roots cannot penetrate the hardness, so they give up. The peat was needed—many bags of it. At some point, we decided it was enough. But now, I worry the plants wish we had added more.

Young children need tenderness, careful attention, and interest instilled in them to grow and thrive. The hardness of some parents leads to fear of relationships and rigidity within them. Like clay soil, these children are robbed of the nutrients necessary for emotional growth and connection. They need a ton of peat to open up.

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

If you are exploring how your own early environment shaped your emotional life—or noticing patterns that feel rooted in childhood—therapy can help you understand and transform those foundations. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support emotional healing, resilience, and growth.

Adirondack Chairs: Memory, Muscle, and the Magic of Sitting Still

Adirondack chairs aren’t just furniture, they’re invitations to pause, reflect, and connect. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how a simple chair can evoke summer memories, family stories, and the joy of staying put.

You know these chairs. You see them on beaches, the porches of resorts, and people’s summer decks. They come in bright colors or muted wood tones. They are big and heavy.

As winter approaches, why in the world am I thinking of Adirondack chairs? Brains are amusing things. They hold our memories and can toss pieces of history into the present with ease.

You know what I mean. You have probably woken from a dream and wondered, why in the world did my brain fish out that memory to throw into the night? Perhaps you found yourself floating in a pool, the warmth of the sun beating down, feeling like you could float there forever. Maybe that means there will be a break in this workload that has been plaguing you. Or perhaps you are back in middle school and can’t find your way to class, and no one will help you. There’s that workload again, only this time the uncertainty of success is looming. Maybe you are standing before the dessert tray at a banquet, unable to decide which sweet treat to try, since they are all perfect little morsels and you want to taste each one before deciding.

Oh heck, I have gone way off track. Back to the chairs.

The shape of this chair is inviting. However, once you sink into it, you may find it challenging to get out. The seat’s slope puts you close to the ground, and your knees end up in the air. The position is quite comfortable, but getting up from it requires strong abdominal muscles. If you look around at your friends and family, those may be hard to spot. Once in, though, maybe you don’t want to get out.

You can kick off your shoes or flip-flops and dig your toes into the sand. The arms are wide enough to hold a cool drink. If your partner has been clever, they’ve drilled a small hole into the arm to keep one of those spiral cup holders, so you never have to worry about losing your drink to the sand. Additionally, you rarely find a single Adirondack chair. They almost always come in groups or clusters, with space for friends and family to join you.

Eventually, the stories turn to funny tales of vacations past, the silly things your cousins have done, or how some distant relative ended up in jail after riding a tractor onto the football field. No, really. Relatives do these kinds of things.

If you stay long enough, someone will build a bonfire, and you can roast marshmallows if your stick is long enough, because trust me, you are not getting out of that chair.

Want to explore how memory, relaxation, and shared rituals support emotional health? Visit Psychology Today’s article on rest and reminiscence and Greater Good’s guide to how shared experiences build relationships.

If you’re reflecting on memory, family connection, or emotional rest, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support clarity, connection, and emotional ease.

WISE OLDER WOMAN

Guidance, Courage, and the Quiet Power of Seeking Wisdom

She’s not just a character in folklore—she’s a mirror of your own readiness. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how the archetype of the wise older woman invites us to risk vulnerability, seek transformation, and embrace the challenge of growth.

Where do you find one? When do you need one?

Several cultures have the tradition of consulting a wise older woman. Often, this woman is shrouded in mystery and set apart from the group. Visiting her requires courage and a willingness to journey outside one’s comfort zone.

The wise older woman was powerful and would often test your strength and sincerity before issuing her advice. After all, you had to prove worthy of the advice. Risking the visit was insufficient; you had to pass the test of trust. Were you worthy of this advice? Could you handle the tough stuff? The wise woman was not a vending machine. Her wisdom would not be offered until you could prove that you would accept the advice.

You had to trust yourself. In making the journey, you were taking a risk. As you moved forward, you would face doubt. You would ask yourself: Why am I doing this? Do I need help? What if I can’t handle it? How will I cope? Various questions accompanied you on your journey. The journey was challenging, testing your commitment and willingness to seek wisdom and apply it.

One of the reasons that the wise woman was a journey away was to test your sincerity. Every culture has had a wise older woman who could be trusted to see you clearly and understand your capabilities. The journey tests your sincerity and willingness to accept advice. Throughout life, we are given advice. Our families seem eager to provide us with direction and even pressure us to move in their direction. The choice to seek out the wise woman is entirely different.

At that point, we have decided to place ourselves in the hands of another. This act of “leaning in,” knowing that we must find a way to follow the advice, takes courage and trust. Trusting another human being with our deepest longings and fears is an act of courage. Traveling to the wise woman takes fortitude. Accepting the direction of the wise woman takes trust. We are being tested, and simultaneously, we are being empowered as we receive the challenge.

Empowerment is a quiet experience. Purpose and intent soak into our souls. Often, we are challenged to squeeze out this courage and use it in ways that frighten us and strengthen us. Sage advice is usually hard to execute. Yet, the freedom that comes as you do is genuinely delicious.

Want to explore how the wise older woman archetype empowers transformation? Visit Judith Stafford’s reflections on reclaiming the wise woman, Symbolism Hub’s guide to the wise old woman in folklore, and The Shakti School’s insights on aging and empowerment.

If you’re reflecting on mentorship, emotional courage, or personal growth, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support insight, healing, and empowerment.