The Interpreted Rock

 By Stephen C. Schultz The thump, thump was unmistakable and annoying all at the same time. With my eyes closed and my head in that fog that only happens as you are coming out of sleep, I was beginning to realize the thumping was the sound of cars on the 10 in Southern California, driving over an uneven crack in the cement. Yes, it was early. Still dark outside. I rolled over and looked at my phone. As is usually the case, my five o'clock alarm was about to go off in about 30 seconds. There was a quick awakening and a sharp focus as I reached for my phone, hoping I could turn the alarm off before I actually had to hear it. I had a reason for being up so early. I was attending a conference in Southern California, but I needed to speak with a family living in the Eastern time zone. Their day was already well underway. Mine was just beginning. I got out of bed, made my way to the small hotel desk, opened my computer, and started preparing for our call. They had a 12-year-old son. Thre...

By Stephen C. Schultz The sun was shining through the limbs of the great Douglas fir trees. Morning was in the air, and a cool breeze carried the fresh scent of dew across the field. Fall was beginning to make its presence known. As I stood there taking it all in, I found myself thinking about a recent experience that was shared with me involving a second grader, his teacher, and his parents. It was a simple story, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something important in it. Sometimes the smallest moments in a child's life can remind us of something we adults too easily forget: children are still becoming who they are. The teacher had reached out to the boy's mother the day before and asked if she and her husband could meet with her briefly the following day. She assured her that it wasn't an emergency, but there were a few things she wanted to discuss. The next day, both parents arrived at the agreed upon time, and their son came with them. The...

By Stephen C. Schultz Some of the best lessons about kindness don't come from books, classrooms, or carefully planned conversations. They come from ordinary moments when we happen to notice someone else. Over the years, I have written about several of those moments. Looking back at them now, I realize they all share something in common. They remind me that kindness rarely requires extraordinary circumstances. More often, it begins with simply paying attention. A few years ago, I wrote about Finding Meaning in the Mundane . It started with something as ordinary as shoveling snow. I was outside clearing the sidewalk when I noticed two mule deer moving quietly through the snow and into my backyard. It was one of those small moments that could easily be missed, but it reminded me that life is filled with things worth noticing if we are willing to slow down long enough to see them. That same idea applies to people. In another post, Connecting Generations...It's Not About Technology ...

By Stephen C. Schultz There is something about August that always makes me reflective. Backpacks begin appearing in stores. Teachers begin preparing their classrooms. Parents start talking about bedtimes again. Kids wonder who will be in their class, whether they'll make new friends, and if they'll recognize anyone when they walk through the school doors that first morning. Before every school year begins, I find myself thinking about another kind of classroom. The early morning dew dripped from the branches of the Douglas fir trees all around me. Ferns and waist-high brush soaked my pants from the knees down with every step. My head bobbed up and down in a steady rhythm, not because of music, but because I was trying to survive. I looked down to make sure my footing was secure and then back up to keep my fishing pole from snagging in the branches overhead. It was quite the process for an eight-year-old making his way through the underbrush of the temperate rainforest we respec...

 By Stephen C. Schultz One of the assumptions we can easily make in behavioral healthcare is that families simply need more information. There are insurance benefits to verify, levels of care to understand, providers to contact, evaluations to schedule, and treatment options to compare. It seems reasonable to believe that if we can explain the process clearly enough, families will know what to do next. After nearly twenty-five years of working with families considering residential treatment, I've found myself looking at that assumption a little differently. The challenge often isn't the complexity of the information. It's the amount of information arriving all at once. By the time many parents contact Oxbow Academy , they have been living with uncertainty, fear, and emotional exhaustion for months, and sometimes years. Many have already navigated outpatient therapy, medication management, school interventions, psychological testing, and countless difficult conversations at ...

 By Stephen C. Schultz Parents often ask me whether concerns about internet pornography are a relatively new phenomenon. Given the rapid rise of smartphones, social media, and unlimited internet access, it is easy to assume that our understanding has only recently begun to catch up with the technology. The truth is quite different. Long before today's digital world existed, physicians, psychologists, neuroscientists, and addiction researchers were already asking difficult questions about pornography's influence on the brain, relationships, and healthy development. While the internet has changed dramatically over the past twenty years, many of the concerns raised by those early researchers remain remarkably relevant. One historical example stands out. In November 2004, psychiatrist and researcher Dr. Jeffrey Satinover submitted testimony to a United States Senate committee discussing the emerging science surrounding internet pornography and its potential effects on the human bra...

 By Stephen C. Schultz The heat hit me like I was catching a medicine ball in a local gym. There was a breeze, technically. But it felt less like relief and more like someone had pointed my wife's blow dryer in my general direction. When I stepped out of the car, the temperature read 95 degrees, and the humidity seemed to whisper, "Welcome to Dallas. You're definitely not in Utah anymore." Coming from the Intermountain West at roughly 6,000 feet above sea level, I'm accustomed to conversations about shortness of breath because of the elevation. Dallas has its own version of that experience. It took me about five minutes to realize that breathing through humidity is a skill I have yet to master. Truth be told, I really enjoy visiting Dallas. It is a vibrant city with a rich history, wonderful people, and an unmistakable sense of energy. Every visit I've made, builds on the previous visit and gives me another reason to appreciate it. The climate simply reminds...