Thank you, Sue

Sue Johnson changed my life in ways that were never just professional. Her work gave me more than a model – it gave me a language for love and panic, longing and repair, and a map for where people go when they fear they don’t matter.

Walking into Sue Johnson’s work felt like stepping through a doorway.

Not just because it shaped my career, but because it changed how I understood human suffering – and human bravery.

When I encountered Sue’s work, something in me exhaled. Because she wasn’t asking us to pathologize people for needing.

She wasn’t asking us to shame people for being intense, reactive, “too much,” or “too sensitive.” She was saying something radically humane:

“Of course you’re doing this. You’re trying to stay attached.”

You’re trying to find your way back to a safe haven. You’re trying to matter again.

And what struck me – again and again – was Sue’s unwavering respect for attachment itself.

Not as sentiment. Not as romance. But as survival. As the organizing principle of our nervous system. As the deep truth underneath the surface behaviors that so often get misunderstood.

Sue didn’t just teach technique.

She taught us to listen for the music underneath the words.

She taught us to hear the fear underneath the anger.

The longing underneath the shutdown.

The love underneath the protest.

And she taught us to stay – especially when it would be easier to explain, diagnose, or distance.

As I trained and grew inside EFT, I didn’t just learn “steps.” I learned a stance. A relational posture that says:

  • People are not broken—bonds are broken.
  • The problem is the pattern, the cycle.
  • And connection is not a luxury; it’s the heartbeat of healing.

Sue’s influence became part of how I supervise, how I train, how I sit with couples and families in terror and grief and betrayal.

But it also became part of how I orient to my own humanity – my own attachment system – my own longing to be held, chosen, safe, and seen.

That’s the part I want to say out loud today:

I am grateful not only for what Sue gave me as a clinician, but for what she gave me as a person.

Sue helped me trust the wisdom inside attachment needs rather than treat them like deficits. She helped me honor the ache for closeness as a form of courage – because reaching is always a risk.

And Sue didn’t just build a model. She built a community.

A global family of therapists who try – imperfectly, relentlessly – to help people find each other again.

To help partners become accessible, responsive, emotionally engaged.

To help families move from danger to safety, from panic to connection.

Sue, your work taught us that love is not soft.

Love is fierce. Love is organizing. Love is repair.

Love is the willingness to turn toward another human being and say:

  • “Here I am.”
  • “You matter.”
  • “I will not leave you alone in this.”

And because of you, we learned that those words aren’t just poetic. They are clinical. They are life-saving. They are change.

So today I want to offer my gratitude, clearly and personally: Thank you, Sue.

For the way you saw people.

For the way you protected the dignity of need.

For giving us a language of bonding that is both scientifically grounded and profoundly compassionate.

I’m profoundly grateful to Dr. Scott Woolley for introducing me to Sue’s work during my master’s program at Alliant, and to Dr. Jim Furrow, Dr. Brent Bradley, and Dr. AnnMarie Early for believing in me. Being seen by such leaders gave me the courage to keep risking growth.

I will always be grateful for that introduction – because it became a turning point.

Sue, your legacy is not only in books, trainings, and research. Your legacy lives in rooms – every day – where someone risks a new reach…

where someone softens…

where someone says, “I miss you,” instead of “You don’t care.”

Where someone finally believes, even for a moment, “Maybe I am not too much. Maybe I am allowed to need. Maybe I can be held.”

We carry you forward.

And we will continue to serve your mission “one relationship at a time”.

-Dr. Lisa Palmer-Olsen