Have you ever recognized the chaos you’ve become attached to?

Not necessarily the loud, dramatic, everybody-knows-your-business kind of chaos. 😂

I’m talking about the quieter kind.

The kind that shows up in our reactions, our relationships, our assumptions, and sometimes in those little moments when we find ourselves behaving in ways that don’t quite alig…

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Greetings from Texas,

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Saturday was heavy and light at the same time.

I don’t know if you all have those weekends where you have two days to catch up on rest, do some of the things you want to do, and then tend to the things you simply need to do.

Well, Saturday was one of those days for me.

My need-to-do list included attending the homegoing celebration for a dear friend’s moth…

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Tomorrow, October 19, is his heavenly birthday. It also happens to be the first day of early voting here in Texas.

Now, if that isn’t something worth reflecting on during a morning walk, I don’t know what is!

As I walked, I found myself hoping that his grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, and the generations that follow would honor the legacy he left behind. Not necessarily with grand gestures, but through something as meaningful as participating in the democratic process. When I asked him who he'd vote for, he said, “the Colored one,” referring to Senator Barack Obama before he became the first African American President. Grandpapa would be 113 tomorrow. I vote for him.

Congressman John Lewis spent much of his life reminding us of the importance of voting. He understood what it meant to fight for a right that generations before us were denied.

And that got me thinking about my grandmother.

A voting sticker and a beautiful memory.

One of the last elections my grandmother and I participated in together was the 2016 presidential election, when Hillary Clinton was on the ballot.

I remember picking my grandmother up from the hospital that morning. We stopped at Mickey’s Cafe, enjoyed a nice lunch, and then I took her to vote.

Now, I don’t know about your grandmother, but mine was something else! 😂

She was determined to maintain her independence. Whether she was using her walker/wheelchair combo, or that one good leg to help move herself along while you pushed, she was going to participate in whatever she had decided to do.

And voting was no exception.

I remember how happy we were that day. We even put our little I Voted stickers on our faces!

It was such a simple thing, really. A grandmother and granddaughter sharing lunch, conversation, laughter, and an opportunity to participate in something bigger than ourselves.

But today, that memory means so much more.

I wasn’t simply helping my grandmother get to the polls. We were sharing an experience that connected generations of our family to a right that had not always been equally protected or accessible.

And goodness, how I wish I could have another one of those afternoons with her.

What are we leaving behind?

You know that familiar saying about wanting to leave this world better than we found it?

We hear it all the time, especially when people talk about their children and grandchildren.

But as I walked this morning, I found myself wondering whether we’re actually doing that.

My great-grandfather and my grandmother’s generation witnessed a world that was very different from the one we experience today. They lived through enormous social and political changes. They witnessed progress that once seemed unimaginable.

And I wonder what they would think about some of the conversations we’re having now.

I wonder what they would think about the concerns surrounding voting access, civil liberties, political division, and the direction of our country.

More importantly, I wonder what they would ask of us.

Because leaving something better behind requires more than repeating the sentiment.

It requires participation, awareness, accountability, and sometimes the willingness to question people and institutions we’ve supported.

Beyond the party and the color…

I’ve also voted for people who didn’t live up to my expectations.

Haven’t we all experienced disappointment in someone we believed would represent our interests?

And perhaps that’s part of the responsibility that comes with participating in a democracy.

We have to remain willing to examine what elected officials actually do, not simply what they promise. We have to consider how decisions affect our families, our communities, and people whose circumstances may look nothing like our own.

I’m particularly interested in what happens when our political identities become so attached to a party, a color, or a familiar narrative that we stop questioning whether those affiliations still reflect our values.

There’s an attachment conversation in there somewhere, isn’t there?

Our sense of belonging can be powerful. So can our loyalty.

But loyalty and accountability aren’t necessarily the same thing.

And sometimes growth requires us to examine the difference.

‘Twas the night before freedom…

Tomorrow, early voting begins in Texas.

And while I recognize that voting is only one part of civic participation, it is an important opportunity to have a voice in decisions that affect our everyday lives.

So tonight, I’m remembering my great-grandfather.

I’m remembering my grandmother, her determination, that wonderful lunch, and those voting stickers on our faces.

I’m thinking about the generations who came before us, the ones who will come after us, and the world we’re preparing to leave behind.

And I’m thinking about the responsibility we each have to remain curious, informed, and engaged.

Perhaps that’s what freedom asks of us.

Not simply to inherit it.

But to understand it, participate in it, and consider what we’re doing to preserve it for those who come next.

‘Twas the night before freedom, Texas.

And this morning’s walk reminded me that midterms matter, memories matter, and what we leave behind matters.

I went for a walk and ended up having a conversation with my ancestors. 😂

I digress.

Spiral Question 🌀: When you think about the generations who came before you, what responsibility do you feel toward the generations who will follow?

Growth isn’t a line. It’s a spiral. 🌀

I’ve been thinking about freedom lately.

Not the kind we celebrate with fireworks or a three-day weekend. 😂

I’m talking about the kind we quietly dream about while juggling responsibilities, chasing goals, and trying to figure out how to get from where we are to where we want to be.

Freedom.

Whew. That’s a big word, isn’t it?

And depending on where you are in life, it can mean so many different things.

Financial freedom. Emotional freedom. Peace of mind. Freedom from obligations that no longer serve you. Or even the freedom to slip into that particular clothing size you’ve been working toward. 😂

Well, this morning, during my walk, I found myself thinking about freedom from a slightly different perspective.

Let me tell you why.

Earlier today, I hosted our weekly EPPP study group. For those unfamiliar, the EPPP is the Examination for Professional Practice in Psychology, one of the major steps toward becoming a licensed psychologist. The exam is essentially our BAR exam.

Now, there are about seven or eight clinicians in our group. Some have taken the exam before. Others, like me, are still preparing for that first attempt. (My ONLY attempt!)

Last week, I showed up to our scheduled session, and nobody else did. (That DEFENSE celebration for another new Doctor in our group was too many things!)

So, I shut it down.

This morning? There were two of us.

And you know what? We had a wonderful session!

My colleague gave a great presentation on personality disorders (PD), and we had the opportunity to exchange ideas, ask questions, and really engage with the material…while having a ball identifying the narcissists and other PD’s we recognize this political season.

But afterward, something stayed with me.

We all say we want the freedom that comes with reaching the next level. But are we consistently doing what that freedom requires?

Hmm.

Now, before anybody thinks I’m fussing, let me offer a little context. 😂

The clinicians in our group are busy. And I mean BUSY.

We have demanding caseloads, complicated evaluations, reports to complete, families who need answers, and clients whose experiences require us to be curious, thorough, and present.

It’s meaningful work.

Sometimes we’re unraveling complicated histories, researching unfamiliar concerns, and trying to make sense of information that can significantly impact a family’s next steps.

We provide an important service to our communities.

But here’s the interesting part.

Sometimes, in being of service to everyone else, we unintentionally become a disservice to ourselves.

Especially when we’re working toward something that requires our attention outside of our regular responsibilities.

And that brings me back to freedom.

As a postdoctoral clinician, I’m still practicing under supervision. That comes with important ethical responsibilities, professional accountability, and opportunities to continue learning.

And I value that.

But eventually, I want the freedom that comes with independent licensure.

The freedom to explore the full range of my professional interests and capabilities. The freedom to make decisions about how I want to practice, whom I want to serve, and what this next chapter of my career might look like.

For some of my colleagues, that may mean opening a clinic.

For others, it might mean establishing a solo practice, supervising future clinicians, or developing programs that serve communities in new ways.

Different visions. Different destinations.

But there’s one rather inconvenient little detail we all have in common.

We have to do the work to get there.

And not just when we’re feeling motivated.

Not just when our schedules cooperate.

Not just when life gives us a perfectly quiet morning, a hot cup of coffee, and three uninterrupted hours to study.

Wouldn’t that be lovely, though? 😂

We have to make consistent decisions that move us toward the freedom we’re seeking.

And sometimes, we need accountability.

That’s part of why I helped organize our study group in the first place. We have a space, a schedule, and colleagues who can share the responsibility of preparing.

But having a study group doesn’t automatically make us prepared.

We still have to show up.

And that realization isn’t limited to clinicians or professional examinations.

Think about the freedom you’re seeking in your own life.

Maybe it’s financial independence.

Maybe it’s leaving a relationship or situation that no longer aligns with who you’re becoming.

Maybe it’s improving your health, building a business, completing a degree, finding peace, or finally creating something you’ve talked about for years.

Whatever it is, there’s probably some action you’ve already identified that could move you closer to it.

The question is whether you’re consistently taking it.

And listen, I’m including myself in this conversation.

Because knowing what needs to be done and actually doing it are two entirely different experiences!

Life happens. We get tired. We get distracted. We have competing responsibilities. Sometimes we simply need to rest.

But there’s a difference between giving ourselves grace and repeatedly postponing the very things we say matter to us.

That’s the part I’ve been sitting with today.

Perhaps freedom isn’t always something someone gives us.

Sometimes it’s something we gradually create through the choices we make, the boundaries we establish, the commitments we honor, and the actions we’re willing to repeat.

Even when nobody is watching.

Even when nobody else shows up to the study session.

And even when the finish line feels a little farther away than we’d like.

So, as I finished my walk, I came back to a simple thought:

If your goal is to create something, fix something, change something, or become something, at some point, you’ve got to DO something.

And then do it again.

And again.

Not perfectly. But consistently.

Because the freedom we’re seeking may be waiting on the other side of the accountability we’ve been avoiding.

Well, look at that. I went for a walk and ended up giving myself a little pep talk! 😂

I digress.

Spiral Question 🌀: What does freedom look like for you in this season of your life? And what’s one action you could take consistently to move a little closer to it?

Growth isn’t a line. It’s a spiral. 🌀

Michael Goessling always knew he was adopted. What he didn’t know was that his biological father was Michael McDonald. Their reunion made me smile. Then the attachment researcher in me started asking questions.

There are some stories I read, smile at, maybe send to group chat, and then I keep it moving.

And then there are stories that send me down a rabbit hole.

This one did the latter.

Maybe it was the fact that they are both named Michael.

And no, apparently that wasn’t planned.

Michael Goessling was adopted as an infant and has said that he always knew he was adopted. His adoptive parents, Paul and Kay Goessling, raised him in St. Louis, and he has spoken beautifully about the childhood they gave him.

His mother named him Michael.

Decades later, through one of those infamous DNA test twists that have become increasingly familiar, almost too familiar, he would discover something no one could have predicted when she chose that name:

His biological father’s name was Michael too.

Not just any Michael.

Michael McDonald.

Yes. That Michael McDonald.

The unmistakable voice. The Doobie Brothers. Five Grammys. A soundtrack to more than a few of our lives.

Two Michaels.

One family story that had been waiting nearly six decades for another chapter.

And I have been fascinated ever since.

The Story That Made Me Stop

The discovery apparently didn’t begin with either Michael searching for the other.

A half-brother Michael Goessling didn’t know existed took a DNA test through 23andMe. The results identified Goessling as a half-brother, and eventually the pieces of his and their biological history began coming together.

Goessling met his biological mother.

Then came a telephone conversation with his biological father.

As the story goes, they were talking when Goessling asked what his father did for a living.

A musician.

He was preparing to tour through St. Louis.

Eventually, Goessling asked the obvious question.

Was he Michael McDonald?

He was.

I can only imagine the pause after a revelation like that.

And I want to be careful with those words: I can only imagine.

Because one of the things I’m becoming increasingly interested in as a researcher is the difference between what we imagine someone should feel after an unexpected family discovery and what that person actually experiences.

The public gets the reveal.

The family has to live the revelation.

And Then Came the Hug

Eventually, father and son met.

By the accounts they’ve shared publicly, it was beautiful.

There was a big hug. There were expressions of love. There was relief.

Michael McDonald has spoken about carrying questions and guilt over the years and about the relief of learning that his son had been loved and had experienced a good childhood. He has been especially gracious in acknowledging the parents who actually raised Michael.

And then another layer:

Michael McDonald learned that he wasn’t only a biological father.

He was a grandfather.

Just like that, one discovery rearranged a family tree.

A son.

A father.

A daughter-in-law.

Grandchildren.

Half-siblings.

Biological connections that had always existed genetically but had never existed relationally.

And that’s where my brain went somewhere different.

Because I watched the reunion and thought:

This is beautiful.

And almost immediately afterward, the attachment researcher in me thought:

But what happens after the hug?

The Part of the Story We Don’t Usually See

This story caught my attention for another reason.

I know someone who experienced an NPE, which is often called a Not Parent Expected discovery.

Their circumstances are different from Michael Goessling’s.

Michael knew he was adopted. An NPE discovery generally involves learning unexpectedly that a person believed to be one’s biological parent is not genetically related in the way that person had always understood.

That distinction matters.

But knowing someone who received that kind of revelation later in life has allowed me to witness, from the outside, how complicated unexpected biological information can become.

There can be excitement.

Curiosity.

Grief.

Questions.

Anger.

Relief.

Belonging.

Rejection.

New relationships.

Changed relationships.

And sometimes questions about yourself that didn’t exist before someone handed you information about your DNA.

I’ve watched enough of that experience to know that a discovery doesn’t end when someone says:

“We found your biological family.”

In many ways, that’s where another story begins.

And perhaps that’s why I can’t stop thinking about the Michaels.

DNA Can Establish Relatedness. It Can’t Create a Relationship.

This may be the question underneath all of my curiosity.

What happens when biology introduces you to someone your DNA recognizes, but your relational history does not?

We tend to use family words as though they tell us everything:

Mother.

Father.

Son.

Daughter.

Brother.

Sister.

But those words can describe biology, relationship, legal status, lived experience—or some complicated combination of all four.

A DNA test can tell two people that they share a biological connection.

It cannot tell them what happens Tuesday afternoon when one wants to call the other.

It cannot decide how frequently they should talk.

It cannot determine whether affection should happen immediately or gradually.

It cannot decide what names or titles feel comfortable.

It cannot tell an adult child whether curiosity about a biological parent somehow diminishes love for the parents who raised them.

And it certainly can’t determine how quickly two strangers who share DNA are supposed to stop feeling like strangers.

That’s where I become curious about attachment.

Not because I am suggesting that either Michael has an attachment problem. I’m not.

We know far too little about their private relational experiences to make that kind of claim, and frankly, that’s their business.

I’m interested in the larger human question their story raises.

How do people form relationships after biology introduces them late?

What Happens to the Family You Already Had?

There’s another side to these discoveries that fascinates me.

When one person discovers biological family, that discovery rarely belongs to that person alone.

Someone discovers a father.

But that father may already have a spouse.

Children.

Grandchildren.

Siblings.

A family history.

The person making the discovery may have a spouse, children, siblings, parents, and decades of family relationships too.

Suddenly, a DNA result has entered two family systems.

And nobody else necessarily took the test.

Think about that for a minute.

Imagine receiving a telephone call or a Facebook Messenger message, and discovering:

You have a brother.

Or:

Your father had another child.

Or:

You have grandchildren.

Nobody asked you whether you wanted your family tree expanded.

And yet there it is.

That doesn’t make the discovery bad.

It makes it human.

People need time to figure out boundaries, expectations, loyalty, belonging, curiosity, closeness, and sometimes grief.

Some people may rush toward one another.

Others may need distance.

Some may form extraordinary relationships.

Others may decide that biological connection doesn’t require relational connection.

And I think we need room for all of those possibilities.

Sometimes the Surprise Is the Missing Chapter

Michael Goessling’s story is important to distinguish from the NPE experience.

He knew he was adopted.

His discovery wasn’t:

“The family story I’ve been told about my biological parentage isn’t true.”

It was closer to:

“There are chapters of my family story I have never been able to read, and now some of those pages have names.”

That’s different.

But both experiences belong to a larger question I’ve become increasingly interested in:

What happens psychologically and relationally when unexpected genetic information changes what we know about family?

And perhaps even more specifically:

What role does attachment play in how people navigate what happens next?

I’ve spent years thinking about attachment.

My doctoral research examined attachment styles in an entirely different context, relational betrayal and trauma following partner sexual infidelity.

But lately, my curiosity has begun spiraling somewhere new.

What happens when the disruption isn’t discovering something unexpected about a romantic partner...

but discovering something unexpected about your own biological story?

There it is again.

The Spiral.

I Have So Many Questions

What happens to identity when biological information arrives at 25?

At 40?

At 58?

At 70?

Does discovering where you came from change who you understand yourself to be?

How does someone balance loyalty to the family who raised them with curiosity about the family whose DNA they carry?

What happens when a newly discovered biological parent wants immediate closeness—but the adult child needs time?

What happens when it’s the opposite?

What happens when someone reaches out and is welcomed?

And what happens when they’re rejected?

How does attachment affect any of this?

Does someone who fears rejection approach newly discovered relatives differently from someone who is more comfortable with uncertainty and intimacy?

Does knowing one’s biological history create belonging?

Or can it temporarily disrupt it?

And perhaps one of the questions that interests me most:

When does a biological relative become family?

I don’t have answers to all of those questions.

Yet.

And that’s precisely why I’m interested.

Maybe This Is Where Research Begins

One of the strange and wonderful things about finally finishing a doctorate is realizing that earning the degree didn’t make me less curious.

It may have made me worse. 😂

Now I see research questions everywhere.

A news story becomes an attachment question.

A DNA commercial becomes an identity question.

A family reunion becomes a question about belonging.

And sometimes someone else’s story intersects with something I’ve witnessed in real life and makes me wonder whether there is something here we need to understand better.

I think this may be one of those times.

There is emerging research about unexpected parentage discoveries, identity, grief, family relationships, rejection and connection.

But I’m particularly interested in the attachment piece.

Not:

“Does discovering unexpected biological family damage attachment?”

That’s too simplistic.

I’m more interested in:

How might the attachment patterns we already carry influence the way we navigate an unexpected biological-family discovery?

And eventually, I think I want to study it.

For now, though, I’m still sitting with the story of two Michaels.

A mother named her adopted baby Michael.

Nearly six decades later, he learned that somewhere out there was another Michael whose DNA was part of his own story.

They eventually stood face-to-face.

And hugged.

That’s the ending television gives us.

But as a researcher—and simply as a human being—I’m becoming increasingly interested in what comes next.

Because DNA may reveal a connection.

People still have to build the relationship.

And perhaps that’s where the real story begins.

Spiral Question 🌀

If you discovered an unexpected biological relative tomorrow, what do you think you would want first: answers, connection, time—or some combination of all three?

I didn’t know how to say that twenty-four years ago, when I started coaching. I knew it was true. I had watched it happen too many times to doubt it. A client would do the work. Make real progress. Get clear on what they wanted and why they had been avoiding it. And then, months later, sometimes years later, they would come back. Not to the same conversation, but to the same fear. The same question. The same stuck point, yet wearing a different outfit.

I used to think that was failure. I don’t think that anymore.

— — —

I want to tell you something that changed everything about how I coach, how I understand people, and why I built this newsletter.

In 2022, I made a decision that surprised almost everyone who knew me. I paused AYACOACH, a coaching practice I had spent 24 years building, and went back to school. I went back to school full-time to pursue a doctoral program in clinical psychology. Then, a postdoctoral fellowship followed after graduating, where I continue to train toward licensure today.

I didn’t leave because coaching wasn’t working.

I left because I kept watching something happen that I couldn’t fully explain.

A client would break a pattern that had governed their entire professional life and then, three years later, at a new level of success, with new stakes, a new team, and a new title, the same pattern would resurface. Not identically. But recognizably. The same fear of being exposed. The same tendency to take on more than they could hold. The same silence in rooms where they should have been speaking.

I wanted to understand why. Not just intuitively. Scientifically.

— — —

What I found in that doctoral program confirmed what I had always suspected and deepened it in ways I couldn’t have anticipated.

Growth is not linear. It never has been. The research on behavioral change, on attachment, on how the nervous system interprets and repeats patterns across a lifetime, all of it points to the same shape.

A spiral.

You don’t leave your fears behind. You rise above them, temporarily. And then you come back around. It’s like they evolve with you. At a new altitude. With more awareness than you had the last time. But back. The question that haunted you at thirty will visit you again at forty-five, when the stakes are higher, and the audience is larger, and the cost of getting it wrong feels more real, or even emotionally heavier.

That is not regression. That is exactly how change works.

The goal is not to eliminate the spiral. The goal is to recognize it faster each time it comes around. To meet the familiar fear with something you didn’t have before: a map, or in layman’s terms, a PLAN.

— — —

That is what this newsletter is.

I’m Dr. Arnetta Yardbourgh. I’m a Postdoctoral Fellow, a Certified Professional Co-Active Coach (CPCC), and the founder of AYACOACH (AY & ASSOCIATES, LLC- AYA). I have spent more than twenty-four years coaching entrepreneurs, executives, career pivoters, and high achievers through some of the most demanding transitions a professional life can hold.

And now I write a newsletter called The Spiral because it is the most honest name I could give to what we are all doing here. The Spiral was inspired by a recent presentation I made to striving filmmakers at the University of Houston on the topic of Leveling Up. We discussed the various levels of growth they experienced as filmmakers, and the task during our time together was for them to recognize who they had to be to reach each milestone and accomplishment, while also recognizing who they needed to become to shed the older version of themselves. Ironically, when asked how the students could reach me, I, too, paused because I had not completely shed the older “student” version of myself. None of my contact information at that time suggested I was who I had become just recently… Dr. Yardbourgh.

Every week, I will write about the patterns that keep coming back. Attachment and the loops it creates in every relationship you have. Entitlement and the wound underneath it. Boundaries and why setting them once is never enough. Identity and the disorientation that comes when you outgrow a version of yourself but haven’t yet arrived at the next one. Burnout not as a productivity failure, but as a values crisis in disguise.

I write at the intersection of psychology and real-world strategy. I bring what I am learning in postdoctoral clinical training, translated out of clinical language and into something you can actually use, alongside what I have observed across twenty-four years of coaching. That dual lens is the thing I offer that I do not believe you will find anywhere else.

— — —

I also want to be clear about what this newsletter is not.

I am not a licensed therapist- YET. Coaching services are not therapy, and this newsletter does not constitute a clinical relationship. If you are navigating something that requires clinical mental health support, please seek it. There is no shame in that; there is only wisdom.

Who I am is a coach who went all the way back to school and came home with more. More science. More care. More compassion for the complexity of what it takes to change.

— — —

A note about the name.

The Spiral is not a metaphor for being stuck. I want to be careful about that.

The spiral is a metaphor for being alive and growing, which are two things that rarely feel tidy from the inside. If you have ever done the real work, made genuine progress, and then found yourself face to face with a version of the same fear and thought: why am I back here? What is wrong with me? … I want you to hear this clearly.

Nothing is wrong with you.

You are on the spiral. Which means you are moving. You are just moving the way growth actually moves, and often not in a straight line away from everything that has ever frightened you, but in a widening circle that brings you back around with more capacity, more knowledge, and sometimes more than you had before.

The question is not whether the spiral comes back.

The question is who you are when it does.

— — —

I am relaunching AYACOACH in September 2026. I am writing this newsletter alongside my postdoctoral training and my EPPP preparation, which means I am, quite literally, on multiple spirals at once. I know exactly what it feels like to be doing important, demanding work while something else important and demanding is asking for your attention.

I am writing this newsletter because I kept thinking about you during the years I was away, and at times wanting to engage. The person in the middle of something hard. The person who has done the work, found themselves back at the beginning of a familiar loop, and doesn’t understand why.

I came back with more. And I want to give it to you.

— — —

I have one question before I go.

Where on the spiral are you right now?

Are you at the beginning of a loop, recognizing a pattern you thought you had already resolved? Are you at the top, a new level, new stakes, wondering why the old fear followed you here? Are you somewhere in the middle, doing the work, not yet sure where it’s taking you?

Hit reply and tell me. I read every response. And I mean that, not as a politeness, but as a commitment. Your answer will shape what I write.

— — —

If this landed, if something in these words named something you have been living but couldn’t quite articulate, consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Paid subscribers receive my weekly deep-dive essays, my monthly 201cFrom the Spiral201d insider letter from inside my postdoctoral training, Q&A access, and early pricing on all courses and workshops.

The founding member rate is $10 per month—available for the first 100 paid subscribers only; then it goes to the standard $15 per month. If you’ve been here from the beginning, I want you to know that.

Link to upgrade: The Spiral | Substack

Positive Change Matters.

— Dr. Arnetta Yardbourgh AYACOACH | The Spiral Postdoctoral Clinician-in-Training | CPCC

Coaching services are not therapy and do not constitute a clinical relationship. ayacoach.com | @ayacoach