Evil At Our Table: Inside the Minds of the Monsters Who Live Among Us
Part forensics, part exploration of human nature, Evil at Our Table is the first in-depth account by a treatment provider and expert conducting evaluations under the Sexually Violent Predator Law. Here, I not only reveal the details of specific cases—and the outcomes—but also delve into the sometimes-overwhelming impact on my heart, mind, core beliefs, and personal life.
This book has been published, to read more about it, click here.
The Sharp Blade of Grace
What happens when the life you built burns down? Blending memoir, reflection, and autofiction, this genre-bending booktraces a woman’s descent through relational rupture and psychological undoing, and her gradual reemergence through grief, art-making, spiritual connection, and surrender. Moving through exile and transformation, the book asks what becomes possible after the former self has burned away. (in progress)
“Bottom” is a place to hit, but bottom is also a place to find. A relief–we’re finally forced to accept that whatever we’re doing isn’t working. We can’t keep using the drug or doing the thing or staying in the relationship or working as we were or denying death as inevitable or whatever it was that brought us to the point of despair. It’s an end but it’s also a beginning. Despair, in other words, is the invitation to the dark night of the soul.
Atlas of the Uncharted
There’s no map to living a truly authentic life—we are handed maps for the roles we step into but they can never be truly tailored for us. Similar to many, I’ve stepped into many roles—psychologist, artist, writer, partner, parent, child—but my life never fully encompassed all of who I am. So, in the wake of some major life changes, I promise myself to forgo well-worn societal paths and instead forge my own. No matter what. Because while I don’t know what the end point will look like, I know to survive (and thrive) as a unique human depends on it. (in progress)
There’s a daisy on the window sill, in a clear glass vase. It smells of wet, new grass. Of open air and sun. It reminds me of contentment and breathing. The office, the furniture, the patients outside the door–I have to let it all be. I have to fail. I have to get outside. I have to take a breath.
Samantha Stein 