For the first four years of my private practice, I specialized in supporting LGBTQ+ individuals and couples. It was work I cared deeply about and had lived experience with. I built my practice from scratch: networking, starting therapist consultation groups, joining associations, and slowly growing a caseload I felt proud of. It was meaningful work, and I happily served many clients during that time.
As the pandemic began to shift and the world changed with it, I noticed my practice shifting too. I found myself asking questions I hadn’t asked before: Should I offer in‑person sessions again, even though it never felt like the best fit for me? Are the issues clients originally came in for still the ones they’re navigating now? Am I doing the best work I can?
I Didn’t Expect This
It wasn’t until two years ago, in 2024, that my life — and my practice — were turned upside down.
I was in the middle of a significant relationship ending (read: divorce) when I unexpectedly lost my father. These two losses arrived almost simultaneously, and both were so profound and life‑altering that I knew my practice would need to evolve alongside the rest of my life. But that clarity didn’t come easily. In those early days of loss, I could hardly think straight. It felt impossible to see that my life and work were no longer aligned.
And to be completely honest, I wasn’t thriving. The ways I had cared for myself before these losses suddenly felt mediocre at best. I was constantly exhausted, no matter how much I slept. I experienced brain fog, a host of inexplicable physical symptoms, and a terrible, gnawing fear about what my future held. I felt like I was falling apart while trying desperately to appear like I wasn’t.
The Pressure to Perform “Good” Grief
Years of social conditioning as a woman had taught me to keep up appearances — to seem composed, capable, and even to “appear” to be grieving the “right way” (no such thing, by the way). But I was absolutely, fundamentally falling apart. I knew I couldn’t pretend anymore, but I was terrified of what it would mean to show up as imperfectly as I felt.
During a six‑week art therapy grief group at the Denver Hospice, and through my own therapy, something began to shift. I realized that while grief itself was excruciating, what made everything feel significantly worse was the pressure I was putting on myself to hold it all together.
I wasn’t giving myself permission to feel, breathe, or fall apart. I was heartbroken and still trying to seem “okay.”
Living and Healing
Performing was familiar. Being honest about how messy I was? Not so much. I had to confront my fears about being honest with the people in my life, set boundaries I had avoided, and sometimes stop everything in the middle of my day — even when it was wildly inconvenient — to sob into my dad’s t‑shirt.
Providing therapy during these times became one of the few steady places I could rely on. Supporting clients through their own difficulties gave me purpose and reminded me that connection can be a lifeline.
As I reflect on the significance of grief and loss, paired with the mental health challenges so many women face, something is clearer to me now than it ever was before: women deserve specialized grief support. I want to imagine mental health care that acknowledges the lived experiences of women and the pressures we carry — care that not only supports them but helps them build the refuges they may need most when grieving.
If you're navigating grief and looking for support, I offer online grief therapy for adults throughout Colorado. You can learn more about my approach to grief therapy and what working together might look like.
About Lauren
Lauren Lottino, LMFT, is a Colorado therapist specializing in grief, anxiety, trauma, sexual assault and abuse recovery. Her approach to therapy is warm, direct, and focused on helping clients create meaningful change in their lives.
