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Recently, I watched a short video of a foster mother cat gently caring for a kitten who had clearly endured trauma. The kitten flinched at every movement, tucked itself into corners, and froze at any attempt at touch. But the mother cat didn’t retreat. She moved slowly, calmly—relentlessly. With every lick, every soft purr, every patient pause, she sent the same message: You are safe now. I won’t hurt you. I’m not going anywhere.

As I watched, I realized: this is exactly what it looks like to build attachment with a child who has experienced complex developmental trauma.

In Ecosystemic Structural Family Therapy (ESFT), we talk about the importance of reestablishing safety and connection as the foundation of all therapeutic work. For children who have learned through experience that adults are unpredictable, unavailable, or unsafe, attachment isn’t automatic—it must be earned through consistency, patience, and deep emotional attunement.

The caregiver’s role is to embody safety. Not to demand closeness, but to offer connection without pressure, and to remain emotionally available even in the face of rejection or withdrawal. Just like the foster mother cat, the caregiver must be willing to show up again and again, saying with their actions:
💬 I see you.
💬 Your fear makes sense. I would be afraid too.
💬 I’ll stay until you trust.

Attachment doesn’t come from grand gestures—it comes from the quiet, repeated moments of co-regulation: sharing calm, honoring the child’s emotional state, and staying present without needing immediate results.

In a trauma-informed, strength-based model like ESFT, we understand that healing happens through relationship, not in spite of it. And while the journey is slow, the impact is profound.

That tiny kitten eventually crept toward the mother cat and tucked itself under her warmth. It didn’t happen all at once—but it happened. The same is possible for the children we serve.

Traumatized children don’t need perfect caregivers. They need relentless ones. Ones who stay. Ones who wait. Ones who whisper safety through every calm breath and patient act of love.

Because healing begins where fear once lived—and trust is the bridge we build one steady step at a time.

If you’ve ever heard the iconic spoken-word song “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen),” you know it’s packed with practical, poetic, and unexpectedly emotional advice. Originally a column by Mary Schmich and popularized by Baz Luhrmann, the song reads like a love letter to life’s complexity—with one recurring reminder: wear sunscreen.

But if you listen closely, the heart of the song is about more than sun protection—it’s about perspective. It’s about embracing uncertainty, holding paradoxes, and trusting that life is rarely linear. And if there’s any therapeutic model that echoes that spirit, it’s Ecosystemic Structural Family Therapy (ESFT) – making the complex simple by seeing the challenge as relational not behavioral.

“Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long—and in the end, it’s only with yourself.”

In ESFT, we often help families move away from competitive, comparison-based narratives and toward shared emotional connection. Healing happens when we shift from proving or winning to joining and reframing. Families don’t need perfect answers—they need safe spaces to be seen, to struggle, and to grow.

“Do one thing every day that scares you.”

In the family therapy room, vulnerability is that one thing. Asking a caregiver to hold limits with love, encouraging a teen to share hurt instead of anger, or guiding a therapist-in-training to sit in discomfort—these are ESFT moments. Progress isn’t comfortable; it’s courageous action inside safe structure.

“Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them when they’re gone.”

We help families appreciate the everyday, not just the crisis. ESFT is a model rooted in social ecology, reminding us that growth doesn’t happen in isolation—it happens in schools, homes, neighborhoods, and quiet moments. The small, unseen strengths families already possess often become their greatest tools for change.

The Therapist’s Sunscreen? Structure.

Just as sunscreen protects us from invisible harm, structure protects families from the chaos of unchecked patterns. The ESFT therapist holds that structure so families can safely explore their agency. We aren’t rescuers—we’re guides walking families toward their own power.

In a way, wear sunscreen is exactly what we ask families to do: protect what matters, risk connection, trust the process—and be gentle with yourselves.

Therapists are often told to stay reflective, take feedback in stride, and manage their energy. But when you’re experiencing emotional burnout, even minor criticism from a client can feel overwhelming.

Burnout isn’t a sign that you’re doing something wrong—it’s often a sign that you’ve been giving without enough replenishment. And when that’s paired with negative client feedback, it can create self-doubt and isolation.

Systemic family therapists are trained to hold complexity, but we often forget that we are also part of the system. We are influenced by the emotional load we carry, and by the stories we witness. If we don’t build structures of care around ourselves, we start to lose the clarity and compassion that make this work meaningful.

Negative feedback doesn’t have to be internalized—it can be contextualized. Ask: Is this about the therapeutic relationship? A reaction to change? A reflection of broader stress in the system?

More importantly, how are you tending to yourself? Supervision, peer support, and even a quiet walk after a tough session are not luxuries—they’re necessities. Therapists can’t pour from an empty cup. We need to refill regularly, and permission ourselves to rest without guilt.

Engaging every member of a family in therapy is no small feat. In many sessions, one or two voices dominate while others fade into the background. Add in tight session times, and it’s tempting to focus on immediate issues rather than broad engagement.

But presence matters more than perfection. The goal isn’t to fix every dynamic in one session—it’s to build small, intentional moments of connection across time. Each session is a stepping stone toward larger transformation.

Start by redefining success. Engagement doesn’t always mean equal talk time. It might mean one small contribution from a typically silent member. It might look like a validating nod or a moment of shared laughter. These moments matter.

Time constraints force us to be strategic:

• Use change enactments to invite all members to speak without pressure.
• Set clear, attainable goals for each session.
• Circle back to quieter members and validate their presence, even if they say little.

Remember, engagement is not a single moment—it’s a relationship built over time. The more consistent and inclusive the therapist’s approach, the more likely family members are to show up not just physically, but emotionally.

Resistance from clients is one of the most common and frustrating challenges therapists face. Whether it’s missed appointments, shutdowns in session, or flat-out refusal to engage, resistance can feel like a personal failure or a sign that therapy isn’t working. But what if resistance is actually a form of communication?

In systemic family therapy, we reframe resistance not as opposition, but as protection. Often, clients resist because they feel vulnerable, uncertain, or unheard. In fact, that resistance may be signaling something crucial: a desire for improved family communication but a fear of the discomfort or change that might come with it.

By approaching resistance with curiosity rather than control, we open a door to deeper engagement. Instead of asking “Why won’t they cooperate?” we ask, “What are they trying to protect? What do they need to feel safe enough to participate?” This shift reframes resistance as a relational signal—not a defect.

Therapists can leverage moments of resistance by validating the client’s concerns and aligning with their underlying needs. Resistance often melts when a client feels truly seen and heard—especially when they’re struggling to find their voice in a complicated family system.

Improved family communication is not a byproduct of therapy—it’s a central goal. When resistance arises, it’s a cue that the path to better communication is available—but not yet accessible. Our role is to guide the family toward it by leaning into discomfort, modeling vulnerability, and keeping the relational frame intact.