Maris Pasquale Doran seated on a stool in a field with her dog Wylie beside her

Maris Pasquale Doran, LCSW

Psychotherapist · Speaker · Midlife Specialist · NYT Bestselling Author

I am a clinician, a midlife mother, and someone who has lived what I teach.

Twenty years of clinical work gave me the expertise. My own life gave me something no training could.

Columbia University, MSW · Former Columbia University Faculty · Georgetown University, BA · New York Times Bestselling Co-Author, Piper Chen Sings

Maris Pasquale Doran seated on a stool in a field with her dog Wylie beside her

How I got here

When I was a young child, a babysitter studying medicine showed me brain scans. I was immediately captivated by how the brain shapes the way humans grow, adapt, and make meaning of their lives. I studied psychology and sociology at Georgetown University and earned my MS in social work from Columbia University in 2006.

That fascination never faded, and I found my purpose in the therapeutic relationship, supporting clients as they build resilience, presence, and self-trust. My clinical work is still rooted in neuroscience and mindfulness, and I returned to Columbia as a faculty member to teach mindfulness and the healthcare system.

My dedication to emotional awareness extends beyond the therapy room. I co-authored Piper Chen Sings, a New York Times bestseller, with my sister-in-law Phillipa Soo. The book speaks to self-expression and personal agency, the same themes at the heart of my therapeutic approach.

Teaching graduate students and speaking to readers reaffirmed how much I love guiding groups and communities, and it ultimately inspired the creation of Midlife Mothers: Pause. Reset. Reclaim.

I welcome research collaboration. If you are a researcher, lab, or student studying the nervous system, emotional regulation, or the stories we tell ourselves, I would love to hear from you.

Maris Pasquale Doran dancing in her kitchen, hair in motion.
Maris Pasquale Doran dancing in her kitchen, hair in motion.

My background tells part of the story. I am also a woman who speaks to her dog in a love language she never even used with her children, who dances in her kitchen until she is sweating, and who loves getting down on a dance floor as much as breaking it down in an intimate corner with a friend.

We are going to get real and intense together, and we are going to laugh.

The work I do is heavy, and the person sitting with you in it does not always have to be.

That levity is real, and so is the weight I have carried.

One of the most defining experiences of my life was my father's diagnosis and death from pancreatic cancer.

When he got sick, my roles as daughter, mother, wife, and clinician collided and competed. Devoted to showing up fully as his daughter, I also wanted to remain present in my marriage and attentive to my boys.

The gap between how I wanted to show up in each role and what my nervous system could manage was real. I found myself heaving in the shower because it was the only place I could find privacy.

I floated through many days feeling untethered, unable to anchor myself in a present that felt almost unbearable. Sleep became unreliable. Monitoring my phone constantly, bracing for the call that would change everything, left me half-absent in the times I most wanted to be fully present.

Time with my boys was clarifying and real, and it sat alongside stretches where I was somewhere else entirely, even when I was standing right there.

My dad died six days after New York City shut down for Covid.

There was no ritual. There was no gathering.

Grief had nowhere to go except through me.

During that chapter, I leaned into and deepened my mindfulness practice with urgency. That necessity reshaped how I show up in my own life, how I teach, how I sit with clients, and how I guide and facilitate my work.

Doing this work myself, not just holding space for others, continues to clarify everything about how I offer it.

Three years later, I was home with my two boys when smoke began rising from beneath the floor of our den. The fire that followed displaced our family for months. We were safe, truly the most important thing, and also the thing I heard so often it became routine. Any time I have faced something hard in public, it has helped to remember, on repeat, that people just don't know what to say.

I taught mindfulness that semester and walked into the first class in a borrowed dress and a rented jacket. The outfit was great, but the scene was like a bad screenplay. The universe seemed to be demanding that I lean into my own practice rather than skimp on it. There was no immediate solution to make these circumstances okay. The skills I practice could not remove the deep discomfort or shorten a task list that remediation kept lengthening. Rather, they helped me to continue to show up as the mom, wife, clinician, and teacher I wanted to be within this enormous challenge.

This work exploring emotional reactivity, transition, grief, and caregiving is not theoretical for me. I have lived it, and that experience only enriches what I offer.

Live Group Program

Midlife Mothers: Pause. Reset. Reclaim.

You are carrying more than you can name. Twelve weeks of live, clinically grounded support for mothers ready to stop reacting and start choosing.

One to one, by conversation

Individual work

The same method, applied privately with a small number of individuals, women and men. It is arranged by conversation, and availability is limited.

Keynotes, workshops, and series

Organizations

For teams and communities, I bring practical tools and clinical frameworks for stress, reactivity, and the roles people carry. Audiences gain insight into the stories and patterns shaping relationships, culture, and personal performance.

If you are ready to build the awareness and self-trust to show up fully in your life, this is where we begin.

If you are ready to build the awareness and self-trust to show up fully in your life, this is where we begin.

Clinical depth. Real life application.

© Copyright 2026 Maris Pasquale Doran. All Rights Reserved.