Merlin Redger
Storywork Intern
Meet Merlin
Come in. You are welcome here. However you enter—weary or wondering, with hurt or with hope, you don’t need to be anything other than you are in this moment. If you’re carrying ache, uncertainty, or stories that haven’t yet found words, I would like to offer you a space where you can let down your weight and breathe. The invitation is to come as simply as you can. No rush. No pressure. Just room to be. You don’t need to prove a single thing.
I have known despair, and if you wish, you can tell me yours. You will be met in your pain with a kind steadiness. My hope is that over time you will find the courage to unwind from the voices of Can’t and Should and Must and turn instead to the possibility of what could be.
(The text above is adapted from one of Merlin’s pieces of original poetry. Click here to read the piece in its entirety)
Specialties Include
Storywork
Pornography
Shame
Identity
Learn More
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Certificate of Completion - ReStory Institute Level 1
Certificate of Completion - ReStory Institute Level 2
Certificate of Completion - ReStory Institute Level 3
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My approach is informed by Narrative Therapy (Storywork) and Internal Family Systems Therapy (Parts Work).
I’m drawn to the rich dialogue between the underlying philosophies of Western Psychotherapy and Eastern contemplative practices and wisdom traditions. As we begin to share this space together, what does this mean for you?
Here, mindfulness and somatic awareness are not just techniques—they’re invitations to listen closely to the body’s whispers and the heart’s longings. Your body may know things that haven't been safe for your mind to know. I believe your body holds emotional memory, and returning to your history invites you to begin to hear what your body has always held. With your body’s permission, we will begin to move inward with thoughtful care and kindness, letting each part of you speak, shift, and soften. My hope is that you begin the journey of coming home to yourself, that one day, you will meet yourself at the door and say with glad welcome, “Come in. I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad you’re here.”
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I have used many labels in connection with myself—some of them kind, many of them not. I am still unlearning the unkind ones. I have a vivid internal world and feel my emotions intensely. As a poet, I write for the way that language breathes and moves into the depths of human feeling. I love the beauty of wide, wild places and the broad sweep of far-flung horizons. I know what it feels like to be lost in the wilderness of my own pain, and also how it feels to be found by strong, kind guides.
I am an Enneagram Type 4. For most of my life I’ve felt the ache to belong. I’ve felt different, outside, other. I’ve felt “too much” and also “not enough” and both at the same time. Slowly, I’ve learned what Maya Angelou meant, “You are only free when you realize you belong no place—you belong every place—no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.”
Everywhere I have lived has become a part of me. I was born in southern Louisiana and have lived all over the country—Pennsylvania, Nebraska, Arkansas, Missouri, Kentucky, and full circle back to Louisiana. I love hot weather, running, swimming, camp fire s’mores, music that makes me ache inside, a black sky full of stars, the full moon in the dark of early morning, wildflowers that bloom with abandon in ditches and fence rows, a deep blue October sky, and the hawk that soars the wind currents. I, too, want to be like that hawk, flying wild and free.
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50-minute Session - $100
80-minute Session - $150
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With hope I turn toward the task of invitation.
The work begins in me,
to say “Come, you’re welcome here.
Come in. Come as you are.”
Together we can find a place where you can breathe.
And I will sit here with you while you find the words
to tell the story of your ache—each one,
and you can take the time you need.
I have known despair, and you can tell me yours.
I will sit with you and offer kindness to the parts
that have not known what kindness means.
I know that it might seem a risk too dangerous to take.
And that’s okay. We’ll take it slow,
and you have room with me to use your No.
My hope is you will find a space with me
where you will learn to trust,
that you feel safe enough, in time,
to name your deepest shame.
I hope that you will find the courage to unwind
from Can’t and Should and Must
and turn instead to what could be.
I hope you find each tender part of you,
each part that you have disavowed, disowned,
I hope you open wide your arms to welcome each part home.
I hope you set a table of belonging where each one has a chair
and there you sit and join with me and others where we share
together in a different kind of being in this world.
And then I hope that you go forth—with joy,
to do the task you came to do.