The journey of gentleness: the story of Dr. Silvana Loka, who turned psychology into a life mission. For her, the science of the mind remains, above all, a mission of the soul.

June 10, 2026

The Journey of Gentleness

The story of Dr. Silvana Loka, who turned psychology into a life mission. For her, the science of the mind remains, above all, a mission of the soul.

Dr. Silvana Loka holds a Doctorate in Psychology and is a licensed clinical psychologist in the United States, with professional activity in Illinois and Pennsylvania. Her journey began in Albania, where she built the foundations of a rich career in clinical practice and in university lecture halls, serving as a dedicated lecturer at several universities.

With deep academic training and many years of experience working with children, adults, and families, she has always viewed psychology as a mission in service of human dignity. For her, every clinical case has been a universe of its own, a careful process toward awareness and healing.

Today, in the United States, Dr. Silvana Loka practices as a licensed clinical psychologist. She founded her private practice, Mudita Counseling and Consulting, and also collaborates with the mental health center WES Health Systems in Philadelphia, as well as with the well-known clinic in Chicago, Sejdaras Psy.D. & Associates Inc.

In this international dimension, she represents professionalism, ethics, and high clinical standards. Between Albania and the United States, Dr. Loka remains a consolidated professional and humane figure, a bridge of knowledge and values that proves the science of the mind is, above all, the science of the human soul.

A Life That Teaches Healing

Interview – An intimate reflection on the roots, challenges, and mission of a clinical psychologist

Synopsis

There are stories that speak of success. There are stories that speak of strength. But there are also stories that speak of gentleness — and that is precisely where true transformation lies.

This interview tells the personal and professional journey of a clinical psychologist for whom healing is not only a profession, but a way of life. Shaped by family roots, the experience of motherhood, the challenge of facing breast cancer, and the process of rebuilding life as an immigrant, she invites the reader into a deep reflection on the importance of awareness, self-compassion, and presence in our relationships.

Silva invites the reader to pause and think about themselves.

Because sometimes, someone else’s story becomes a mirror for our own life.

The Interview

Dear Silva, who are you beyond your professional title?

Beyond the title “clinical psychologist,” I am a woman who has learned to listen — to herself and to others.

I have spent years studying the human mind, but the deepest lessons did not come from lecture halls or books. They came from silences. From fears. From sleepless nights as a mother. From waiting in hospital corridors. From moments when I had to start over in a new country.

I do not separate my personal life from my professional one. Everything I have lived through has become part of the way I sit across from a person in therapy. I am not there only as an expert. I am there as a human being.

What memories does Silva keep from childhood, and how important was it in shaping you?

My childhood is the root of my inner security.

Growing up with two parents who were always there for me and my brother, both physically and emotionally, created in me an inner sense of safety. This safety taught me trust, emotional stability, and the importance of being present — values that today I try to bring into every relationship, whether personal or professional.

Today life has become fast-paced. Parents face increasing financial pressure to provide a dignified life, and technology constantly challenges their attention and presence in their children’s lives. I consider myself very lucky that every day, my parents were there for me and my brother and encouraged us to talk about our day. They could see right through us, and we had small or big conversations — even conversations about morality, the philosophy of life, and the importance of humanity. We played cards or dominoes, which often ended with the winner’s laughter and the loser’s tears and frustration, or we went about our tasks while bumping into each other in our small one-room-and-kitchen apartment of 48 square meters.

In my family, I saw that a man could cook and take excellent care of children and household duties, just as I saw that a woman could sit at the table with the same weight of voice as any man. These are life lessons that I have never taken for granted.

They were far from perfect. They had their fears, fatigue, and limitations. But they were there, as two people whose world revolved around their two children. And for a child, that creates a fundamental feeling: “I am protected. I matter.”

That feeling has accompanied me throughout my life, and for that I am grateful.

Besides the great love every child receives, what did you gain from your mother in shaping your character?

My mother, a primary school teacher, taught me that education is not only knowledge, but above all, love.

She was just as focused on the emotional support of her students as she was on their academic success. I can still picture her correcting their homework while preparing pieces of cloth to place on the sweaty backs of her pupils. From her, I learned that every person needs to feel seen and heard — and that a gentle word has more impact than any grade.

On the other hand, I must admit that my mother, like many Albanian women, had grown up under the pressure to take on as much as possible, to always be ready to help anyone who asked, and to be the best at everything she did. All these unreasonable burdens not only created in her a tendency to consume herself for others, but also a high sense of criticism toward herself — and of course, toward me.

Today, I have learned to say “No!”, to constantly remind myself that perfectionism is the harshest form of violence against oneself, and to stop criticizing myself as if I were my own worst enemy. Above all, I do my best to cultivate this form of self-love in my daughters. Sometimes, I must admit, they are the ones who teach it to me.

What qualities has Silva inherited from her father?

My father was an engineer in military aviation. Discipline was part of his nature. Everything had order, responsibility, and standards.

It was not easy to study with my father, because I was the first child, and the expectation for me to be “a good child in every way” was considerable — especially to be a model student in every subject and every direction. Who knows how many tears were shed over math notebooks!

But my father is also a gentle nature. He finds it difficult to express affection with words or to have intimate conversations without becoming emotional, yet he has managed to show me how much he loves me by constantly assuring me that he is proud of me.

Personally, I understand how difficult it is for my father, as for many others — especially men — to express love in words. But on the other hand, now that I am grown and a parent myself, I have helped my father accept that the most important thing was that he loved me, without involving pride in my achievements, because love is not something that should have to be earned.

The complexity of my mother and father created within me a balance that today helps me be more empathetic and accepting toward myself and others.

Which experiences have transformed you most deeply?

Motherhood taught me humility. Children place us face to face with ourselves — with our patience, our irritation, and our unconditional love. My daughters teach me things about myself every day, sometimes by making me the object of their teasing, sometimes by highlighting my limitations — even though I am a psychologist — and sometimes by hugging me in silence, because love simply needs presence.

But the experience that truly taught me to slow down and listen to myself was facing breast cancer. I remember one very clear moment: sitting in a white room, listening to medical words that suddenly had to do with my body. In that moment, time slowed down. There, my mind was struck sharply by the idea that life is not guaranteed. And that we cannot always live it in a hurry.

On the other hand, emigrating at the age of 40 challenged me to rebuild my identity with trust and humility. Every experience here, where I have now lived for several years, brought me closer to my essence.

What would you like to say about your relationship with your daughters, as a mother and psychologist, and to what extent do they reflect you?

My daughters are my most honest mirror. They have humor, they tease me mercilessly, and quite often because I am a psychologist. Whenever we have conversations where I am “the patient being examined,” Abi never forgets to tell me: “Go on, Silva, dig deeper under the skin, because the more you discover about yourself, the more money you’ll save me and Korina on therapy!” she says, laughing.

They have taught me that children do not need perfect parents, but parents who work on themselves, who reflect, who apologize, and who grow together with them. And according to my daughters, I still have a lot of work to do on myself, she says, laughing.

They are independent by nature. They challenge me, teach me humility, and remind me every day that love is not control; it is presence and companionship.

As a mother and as a woman, they have taught me that personal growth should not be considered either a desire or a luxury, but a responsibility toward our children.

How did the illness affect your emotional state? Did it weaken you or strengthen you?

It made me gentler with myself. Before it, like many professional women, I was extremely demanding of myself. I wanted to achieve, to be strong, to continue being the model of the woman that had been installed in my mind since childhood.

Illness taught me that being strong does not mean never falling. Being strong means allowing yourself to feel fear, accepting help, and crying when you need to.

It also connected me with many other women. In their eyes, I saw the same question I had: “How does one keep going?” And the answer was always the same: “Every day, take one small step, with awareness, grateful that you are still among the living.”

What was it like to start over as an immigrant?

It was a mixture of emotions — enthusiasm and uncertainty.

Rebuilding your professional identity in a new country means accepting that for a while, you will feel invisible. You will doubt yourself and everything else. You will ask yourself whether you will make it.

But every new beginning reveals within us strengths we did not know we had. Emigration taught me flexibility and trust in the process. And of course, it gave me the opportunity to rely on myself and my family, and to believe that everything I had learned and done in Albania had not been in vain.

I have tried to be the model of the woman I want my daughters to become: to trust themselves and to face life’s challenges with an open heart and mind. Life will show how well I have succeeded in that direction.

Please share some impressions. What have you learned from working with people?

I have learned that most people are much stronger than they think. But they are also much harsher with themselves than they deserve. I have learned that people devote very little time to exploring themselves, and as soon as they feel challenged, they rush to harshly criticize everyone, denying themselves the opportunity to grow and evolve.

We live so much for others and become so attached to appearances and vanities, forgetting that we alone are responsible for deciding what meaning we want to give to our lives.

We call anxiety weakness. We call fatigue failure. We call sensitivity a problem.

In truth, emotions are messages. They ask to be heard, not suppressed. And we listen very little — far too little.

How do you define a healthy life?

A healthy life is a life with awareness and balance.

It is the ability to stop the rush of everyday life and ask: “Am I respecting myself?”, “Am I listening to and respecting my boundaries?”

A healthy life is not running toward perfection and productivity. It is making room for imperfection, for failure, for loss, for pain, just as much as for everything else that fills our heart with joy.

A healthy life is inner harmony — what, according to a woman I once knew, means “living in such a way that you would not want to live anyone else’s life.”

What is the word that represents you most?

Awareness.

Because everything that transforms our life begins the moment we become aware of our thoughts, emotions, and choices. It is not easy to become aware of oneself, not even for me as a psychologist.

Years as a therapist and as a client in therapy have made self-discovery a little easier, but not necessarily the acceptance of what I have discovered about myself. It has not been easy to understand and accept the source of feelings of shame and fear, the reason why for years I tried to be the best at what I did even when I had no strength left in my body from sleeplessness as a mother, the effects of chemotherapy, or even my tendency to look critically at everyone and everything.

Awareness has helped me recognize trauma, losses, and limitations, as well as strength, courage, and abilities. Socrates says that “an unexamined life is not worth living,” and I have decided that my life is worth living.

What does happiness mean to you?

For me, happiness is peace.

I have learned not to chase happiness. I believe that the search for happiness is like trying to catch your own shadow.

For me, happiness is living in alignment with your values and not being at war with yourself. It is accepting your imperfection without feeling less worthy. It is an honest conversation, a long embrace, a moment of silence without anxiety.

Happiness is waking up, feeling that you are alive, and wanting nothing more.

What trait do you value most in others?

Authenticity — being yourself without the fear of being judged or left alone.

Of course, authenticity requires that we first know ourselves, and this is not only a difficult mission, but also one that has no end. Yet I believe that being authentic — unique and unrepeatable — is the greatest obligation we owe to life. Who will be us, if not we ourselves?

Moreover, only people who have the courage to be themselves create spaces where others also dare to be truthful. And I see, with pain, that our society is losing these spaces day by day.

When do you feel most authentic?

When I am fully present and not rushing to do a hundred things at once for the sake of feeling productive or keeping up with the pace of time.

When I listen without judgment. When I speak with an open heart. When I do not try to appear strong, but simply to be present for myself and for others.

For me, authenticity is alignment between what I feel and what I express. It is not always easy to achieve, but there are days when I remind myself that even simply trying is an achievement.

What would you like the reader to take away from this conversation?

I would like them, after closing this interview, to pause for a moment.

To ask themselves: “Am I listening to my body?”; “Am I treating myself with compassion?”; “Am I living according to my values?”

Because true change does not begin with big decisions. It begins with a small act of awareness. And perhaps with a simple choice: to be a little gentler — with ourselves and with one another.

Thank you, Ms. Perre, for the interview.

Thank you, dear Dr. Loka.