Shira Collings

LPC, LMHC, LCPC

My style is warm, collaborative, and deeply relational. I see therapy as a space where you can show up fully as yourself—without judgment—and feel gently supported in exploring what matters most to you. I don’t believe in a one-size-fits-all model; instead, I tailor our work to your needs, pace, and goals. My approach is rooted in feminist and relational-cultural therapy, which means I pay close attention to the ways your experiences are shaped by systems of power, oppression, and connection. I believe that many of the struggles we face are not signs of personal failure, but wise responses to a world that doesn’t always make room for our full humanity. Together, we’ll explore how those external forces have shaped your inner world—and how you might reconnect with your own sense of agency, self-trust, and care. I’m also neurodiversity-affirming, LGBTQ+ affirming, and aligned with Health at Every Size and disability justice frameworks. Whether we’re working through grief, identity, trauma, or life transitions, my goal is to create a space where you feel seen, respected, and supported in finding your way forward.

One of the most profound things I’ve learned is that so many of the feelings people carry—shame, grief, anxiety, self-doubt—are not signs that something is “wrong” with them. Often, they’re deeply human responses to painful experiences, unmet needs, or systems that have failed to honor their worth. I’ve come to understand that healing isn’t about “fixing” someone—it’s about creating space for people to come home to themselves, often for the first time. It’s also been powerful to witness how much can shift when someone feels truly seen. Not pathologized, not judged—just met with care, presence, and curiosity. That kind of connection can be incredibly transformative, and it’s an honor to hold space for it.

It’s not a typical “therapy movie,” but it captures something I think about often in this work: how people search for meaning in the face of pain, uncertainty, and things that don’t make sense. The main character is desperate for answers, for clarity, for a reason why things are falling apart—and the world keeps offering him ambiguity, silence, or unsatisfying platitudes. It’s heartbreaking, but also deeply human. As a therapist, I don’t pretend to have neat answers to life’s hardest questions. Instead, I try to offer a space where we can hold those questions together—where it’s okay not to know, where grief and absurdity and beauty can coexist, and where meaning isn’t something handed down from above, but something we build in relationship. A Serious Man reminds me how much strength it takes to live inside questions we may never fully answer.