I’ve always been drawn to strength, composure, and resilience—qualities that often go unnoticed in a world that prioritizes constant expression and outward achievement. When I first began learning about Stoic philosophy, it didn’t feel like something new—it felt like putting a name to something I had already witnessed and practiced in my life.
My father has always embodied Stoic principles, long before I ever studied them. In his career, he led with discipline, composure, and the ability to stay focused when things went wrong. Growing up, I sometimes thought his lack of reaction meant he didn’t feel deeply. But as I got older—and especially as I began training as a therapist—I realized it was quite the opposite. He did feel deeply, but he had mastered the art of responding thoughtfully instead of reacting impulsively.
This skill didn’t just help him become successful in his career—it also shaped the kind of person I wanted to be. I now carry those same qualities into my own work: staying grounded with clients, focusing on what is within their control, and guiding them toward action instead of overwhelm.
More recently, I met someone who had practiced Stoicism since childhood. Like my father, he carried himself with calm strength, steadiness, and the ability to lead without reacting to every setback. Observing him, I realized this was exactly the quality I admired in others—and one I had been naturally drawn to practice myself.
That realization deepened my curiosity. As I explored Stoic writings, I saw how closely they aligned with my natural instincts and the resilience I strive to build in others.
What I love about Stoicism is that it isn’t abstract philosophy—it’s practical psychology, and modern therapy often echoes its wisdom:
In my sessions, I often encourage clients to pause before reacting, anchor themselves in the present, and take ownership of the choices within their control.
Stoicism isn’t about suppressing emotions. It’s about creating space between what happens to us and how we respond—a concept sometimes called the “Stoic gap.” Psychological research supports this, showing that mindfulness and acceptance-based strategies can reduce emotional reactivity and build resilience (Hayes et al., 2006).
It’s also important to distinguish Stoicism from the everyday use of the word “stoic.” Colloquially, being “stoic” is often misinterpreted as being emotionless or unfeeling. True Stoicism (with a capital “S”) is a vibrant philosophy that encourages us not to suppress emotions, but to understand and manage them through reason and virtue. The goal is inner peace, strength, and freedom—not apathy.
For me, living stoically means practicing gratitude, focusing on what I can influence, and meeting life with grounded strength. It’s a practice that has shaped how I approach challenges, how I show up as a therapist, and how I help others build peace and resilience in uncertain times.
Looking back, I see how Stoicism was always present in my life—modeled by my father, reflected in others I admire, and slowly woven into my own way of being. Today, I see it not just as a philosophy, but as a way of leading, living, and healing.
Because while we cannot control everything, we can always choose how we respond—and in that choice lies our greatest power.
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