Nina Gaby

Essays, art, and healthcare

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“How Did That Make ME Feel”


Available for preorder (Seal Press and on-line booksellers). A new anthology that will be a great addition to the libraries of therapists and therapees alike.

Ever wonder about the process of therapy? You know how it affects you (hopefully well, and hopefully you’ve thought about it) but ever wonder what we, the therapists, might be experiencing? Well here you go. Thirty-five of us writers from both sides of the couch reveal, with candid narrative, the complications of these uniquely intimate relationships.

I was excited to write a piece for this book, but I admit I entered the process with some trepidation. There are rules and boundaries to consider, there is the fear that revealing too much about myself will somehow affect my professionalism. My old-school training was heavy on opacity, as if our “blank-slatedness” could really be a neutral screen upon which the patient could project their unconscious defenses and anything less was poor care. As if a wedding ring or the type of shoes we wore or the way we decorated our office wasn’t a dead give-away as to who or what we were. So I wrote about a kind of transparency, a kind of love in my essay I’m Not Supposed to Love You. Not romantic love, not familial love, but a love that helps us do the work we do, a word that is often taboo in our profession. And not without good reason. We have likely heard of patients who were vulnerable to a therapist’s grossly inappropriate advances, or a therapist whose own training and supervision was grossly inadequate. Psychiatrists who used the power differential in a dangerous way. Or patients whose transference towards the therapist was misinterpreted. After decades in this field, not once has “love” steered me wrong. I am grateful to Seal Press (they go there) and editor Sherry Amatenstein for putting together this collection. Publication date September 6, 2016. Stay tuned for book release events.

From “I’m Not Supposed to Love You”…

This is not about you. The “I love you” piece. It’s about me as a therapist, a psychiatric nurse      practitioner, a clinician, and how I’m not supposed to love you. I learned that rule in my education and training at a big university hospital where even a handshake was considered a slippery slope to major boundary violations. But of course I do. Ask anyone in the therapy field about what we call transference and countertransference, that transaction of feelings between therapist and patient. How it affects what we think of you. How it might deeply affect the decisions we both make. And how to differentiate between the dangerous feelings and the safe, human feelings. I’m not your friend or your mother. You hire me to have a cold, clinical eye and to keep you safe with the right medication, the right therapy. And I need to keep me safe. Because we know how messy emotions get. Isn’t that what brought us here in the first place?”


Don’t Go Up in Flames. Politics 2016. We Get It.

Scene with Sanders and Reid. Sanders head held at an angle of defeat. Silent and sad. It is a horribly disturbing moment no matter what side you are on. But guess what. I was a starry-eyed 17 year old working for Eugene McCarthy and I survived. I was a somewhat more jaded 30 year fighting against Reagan and all he stood for. I survived. I had gotten sober just a month after Reagan announced his candidacy and I have stayed sober throughout the ensuing horror show and the legacy of Reagan’s reign. Survived Nader (who BTW is still “Nadering” My family owned two Corvairs and we survived them too. If you don’t get the reference here you are likely one of those young people I am so worried about.

At 58 I watched Clinton’s concession speech to Obama and my heart was broken but with that heavy heart and frozen fingers I pulled the voting lever for Obama. Of course I did, after early mutterings that I wouldn’t, couldn’t. Look what a surprise ensued. Obama rose above expectations to make some real change, eventually, against all odds. To the passionate young people, don’t throw yourselves over a cliff for anybody. Some columnist whose name I have lost described a post-Trump election as a “pile of burning tires.” Us boomers will be dead soon enough. You will have to try to live with the mess. Thank you for your passion. You can survive.



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“Waggleview” with Bentley and Nina, courtesy of Lori Pelikan Strobel!

“If your dog were an artist, how would he express himself?” Waggleview with Nina Gaby a writer, visual artist, and psychiatric nurse practitioner.


Action plan. Writing about health care.

photo-66For today can I just write a blog about writing a blog? Of course I can. I’m the boss of me. Except that I started writing another piece today, one I realize could be considered controversial and should only see the light of day under deep pseudonym in the AARP magazine backpages–so I feel less the mistress of my own freedom than any thinly veiled braggadocio might suggest. That piece, the one you will likely not read, is about the atrocities of getting old in the changing workplaces of an ageist society where you are unappreciated as a still fierce force to be reckoned with. Instead the piece reads more like a Human Resource reportable incident than a blog post and do we really want to go there? If you do, message me discreetly.

So anyway, in the spirit of positivity, let’s talk about a new project instead. This March I attended the annual conference “Writing, Publishing, and Social Media for Healthcare Professionals” at Harvard. I admit it was daunting to spend time with two hundred medical experts and hearing their pitches for what could easily become the next medical blockbuster. We met with agents, editors and publicists and attended three days of lectures on such topics as “How to Get Your Message Out in Today’s Changing Media Environment,” “Narrative Writing in Healing: The Power of Stories,” and “Publishing is Changing the Way Medicine is Practiced.” Participants left the conference all charged up with action plans and brand new twitter accounts. I left geared up to do…something. During the workshops I made a pretend pitch to write a patient-centered handbook, titled something like So How Was Your Week?, which would explain, in a conversational Anne Lamott-y tone, what to expect from your psychiatric encounter. I practiced and pitched it and got good marks for my delivery to a panel of a dozen agents and editors and the aforementioned two hundred others. No agents swarmed me for a book deal, nor did I really want one. My handbook just didn’t have the punch of, say, revolutionary non-pharmacological ways to beat the common headache forever or how one surgeon brings the dead back to life or the slam dunk memoir potential of impoverished illegal immigrant cures blindness (maybe I embellished a bit here) What I really want to do anyway is find ways of talking about how we feel about doing health care, how do our stories matter in the schema of Obama-care and litigation and insurance insanity? I’ll never be an Oliver Sacks or Atul Gawande, I’m just a worker on the front lines. But what if stories like mine and those of my colleagues could shine a light on the complexities of today’s health care and create better communication with patients, families, colleagues, legislators? What if we could promote health care by making our process more transparent? What if we found words to support each other during this process? Working on the front lines can be a lonely and misunderstood endeavor. Our stories have great potential to heal and I want to talk about ways to do this.

So in the positive spirit of staying close to home and writing what you know, starting in May I’ll be working with the marketing and communication team at my local hospital to do some interviews and write some blogs and connect with my colleagues and patients to do the same. Stay tuned. In the meantime here are several collections with beautiful narrative, moving examples of the genre.

Shades of Blue: Writers on Depression, Suicide, and Feeling Blue edited by Amy Ferris, Seal Press 2015.

Mothering Through the Darkness: Women Open Up About the Postpartum Experience, edited by Jessica Smock and Stephanie Sprenger, She Writes Press 2015.

Same Time next Week: True Stories of Working Through Mental Illness, edited by Lee Gutkind, InFact Books, 2015.






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New Views from the Memory Motel

New Views from the Memory MotelThe Vermont Book Arts Guild exhibit opens this Thursday, February 15 and runs through March 18. Hosting this exhibit is the University of Vermont Living/Learning Gallery in Burlington. From my artist statement:

“New Views from the Memory Motel”

The Three Dimensional Art of Memoir: transparency, translucency, opacity

“transparent translucent opaque transparent translucent opaque transparent” is printed on vellum rolled around a page of quotes. Stuck in a porcelain scroll. “There are shards stuck in our unconscious we don’t even know about until they surface.” Shards of porcelain surround the grouping of scrolls and containers that make up the series New View from the Memory Motel. There really is a Memory Motel, I found it while visiting a friend in Montauk and took some photos, and voila, a new series was born. Much of what we hold on to is bittersweet so I quote Abigail Thomas: “The word memory comes from the same root as the word mourn, and that should tell you something.”

 And from Jenny Kerber, “Writing in Dust” 2010: “The memoir can also serve as a form of testimonial, bearing witness not only to the particularities of a place at a moment in its history but also to the writer’s conscious commitment to it. The Latin root of memoir, however, also reminds us of the proximity of remembrance to mourning. Even as memoria tries to keep something or someone alive, its substance often only amounts to a pale shadow of what has already been lost.”

Elements: Porcelain pages, various handmade papers, fabric, threads, charms, milagros, encaustic, ephemera, original artwork and text as the basis for the written word, also incorporating micro-essays, quotes and pieces of memoir via vintage Letra-Set, stamps, and inkjet printing.  Photo by Ben DeFlorio

Read my guest blog about the piece and the process in July on


 Nina Gaby is a writer, visual artist, and psychiatric nurse practitioner living in Northern New England. She has contributed to numerous anthologies and periodicals, both fiction and non-fiction, as well as prose poetry and articles. Her first book, “Dumped: Stories of Women Unfriending Women,” was published in 2015 by She Writes Press. Most recently her creative nonfiction has appeared on Kevin MD, in Intima: a Journal of Narrative Medicine, The Best of the Burlington Writer’s Workshop, and in “Mothering Through Darkness.” Her work is upcoming in the collections “Second Blooming” and “How Does That Make You Feel?” She has guest blogged on a number of sites including, and infrequently on her own website at Her sculptural porcelain is in the National Collection of the Renwick at the Smithsonian, and Arizona State University permanent collections. Gaby’s three dimensional memoir vessels explore transparency/translucency/ and opacity in mixed media including the written word and have been exhibited recently in several regional gallery shows, including the juried show “Unbound V” and “The Art of Place” which she co-curated at Chandler Center for the Arts this past winter.




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Personally I can’t wait to get to New Hampshire tomorrow

votes for women

Personally I can’t wait to get to New Hampshire tomorrow. And this is why. Hillary. But stay with me here, I’m very much alone (I live in Vermont.)

I got heart and mind invested. Let’s get this out of the way: it may be my last chance to ever see a woman elected president in my own country. As a feminist from the womb, it’s crucial, so much so that I once even considered campaigning for Elizabeth Dole. Very briefly. But mind over heart in these end times. End times. The repubs get in and we further erode the environment, separation of church and state, and any respect we have left on the world stage. I envision Christian-Fundamentalist-imposed burquas for all women of childbearing age within the next 15 years, but then again, I’m of a hyperbolic nature (except no one saw it coming in Teheran either.) Don’t get me wrong, I love Bernie’s message, it resonates. My husband and I lost almost everything in 2002, I feel the greed and lack of controls on Wall Street acutely and still do every day as we continue to crawl back. But to claim that a president can revolutionize our banking system is pie-in-the-sky. There is just so much that a president can do, it’s a democracy. Hands will be tied.

Jonathan Chait from the New Yorker says it much better than I: Those areas in which a Democratic Executive branch has no power are those in which Sanders demands aggressive action, and the areas in which the Executive branch still has power now are precisely those in which Sanders has the least to say. The president retains full command of foreign affairs; can use executive authority to drive social policy change in areas like criminal justice and gender; and can, at least in theory, staff the judiciary. What the next president won’t accomplish is to increase taxes, expand social programs, or do anything to reduce inequality, given the House Republicans’ fanatically pro-inequality positions across the board.”

Enter Hillary with her brilliant understanding of foreign affairs. My god, she knows all the world leaders and likely knows all their kids names and birthdays. What I don’t want is a president that can’t do much- no matter how good the original message may be, leaving us even more crippled in the larger arena. And yes, I’ve loved Hillary since I took my baby daughter to meet her when she came to meet with us nurses back in my hometown over two decades ago, wanting to know what was wrong with health care. She fought a valiant fight that is only bearing fruit two decades later, starting when the Millenials were still babies. My point? She’s still around. Still brilliant, tough, presidential. So it’s not like I have time to join a campaign (I’m tired and can’t afford to retire) especially one that will make me even more unpopular with my Vermont neighbors, and it’s not just about meeting Al Franken tomorrow in New Hampshire, although that will be very cool. It’s that, like in so many campaigns before, starting with local campaigns as a kid, even before Eugene McCarthy, even before I could vote, I have no choice. And if Bernie gets the nom nod, you betcha. Him too.