I spent years in and out of jail, living on the streets, and using just about every substance you can imagine. But on October 2nd, over two and a half years ago, I got clean—and I haven’t looked back. With four kids and an incredibly supportive partner of 11 years who stuck with me through the worst, I made a decision to dedicate my life to helping others like me. Because when you’ve lived it, you know how alone it can feel. Now, I’m a Certified Recovery Peer Specialist and Opioid Prevention Specialist, and I run a relapse prevention support group where I connect with people going through the same struggles I faced. I also work with incarcerated individuals through NAMI, offering peer support because I’ve been where they are. Sometimes, I even stop and talk to strangers on the street if I sense they’re hurting—because you never know when a conversation might be the lifeline someone needs.

I’ve made some of the hardest relationship decisions a woman can face—walking away from a long-term marriage after betrayal, and later ending a short-lived second marriage that I knew in my gut wasn’t right even before the wedding. In both cases, I battled feelings of guilt, fear, and confusion—especially as a woman of faith trying to do “the right thing.” I understand how isolating it feels when you’re stuck between what looks good on paper and what your soul is whispering. Whether you’re questioning a relationship, recovering from one, or just trying to hear your own voice again, I can help you find clarity and peace.

I’ve been married for over a decade, but my partner and I have been together for more than 20 years. Therapy has been a huge help in improving our communication and navigating tough times. I also helped a close friend through a painful moment when they discovered their partner’s emotional affair. It was a shock for them, feeling like they weren’t enough, and they were ready to walk away. I encouraged them to take a step back, process their emotions, and focus on what they needed in the relationship. Through open conversations, they were able to understand that the affair was a symptom of deeper issues, not a reflection of their worth. Eventually, they chose to rebuild their trust and work through it together. They’re in a stronger place now.

A few years ago, I had a close friend I’d known for four years, and a misunderstanding between us led to silence for three months. It hurt. But I also believed our friendship still had value. So, I took the first step and reached out. We talked through what happened, shared our perspectives, and slowly started to rebuild. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. That experience taught me that relationships can be transitional and still be worth repairing—if both people are willing to show up with honesty and accountability. I also center my work around supporting the LGBTQ+ and BIPOC communities because I know how layered and nuanced our experiences can be. If you're going through a tough time in a relationship—romantic, platonic, or family-related—let’s talk it out.

Addiction took a toll not just on my health, but on how I saw myself. At my lowest, I felt like a shell of the person I used to be—ashamed, doubtful, and afraid I had lost my potential for good. Even after I started my recovery journey, I struggled with self-doubt. I wondered if I could be trusted again, if I could rebuild what I’d broken, or if others would ever see me differently. But what I learned is that confidence isn’t something you either have or don’t—it’s something you can rebuild. Little by little, I started making choices that aligned with the person I wanted to be, not the person I was in the midst of addiction. I celebrated small wins, acknowledged my growth, and started taking up space again in my own life. Confidence, for me, came from doing hard things, showing up anyway, and realizing I didn’t have to be perfect to be worthy. It’s still a practice—but one that’s now grounded in truth, not fear.

My mother used me as emotional life support while feeding me to predators. My father's rage taught me I was alone in the universe. for a while I felt like I was born just to be their therapist, connected by a metaphorical reverse umbilical cord that left me drained, debilitated, and vulnerable. Constantly pouring into everyone else the mothering that I never experienced firsthand, and it destroyed my mental and physical health. When I realized no one was coming to save me, I began the sacred work of self-nurture and self-advocacy. I've learned to offer my inner child what I yearned for: wise guidance, protection, validation, kindness, celebration of my existence, acknowledgment and meeting of my needs from body, mind, to spirit. I've become the safe harbor I desperately sought, the fierce protector and tender nurturer of all my wounded parts and an advocate for others in vulnerable positions. Feeling this inner security and self-trust, I feel more resilient and can rely on myself.

Growing up, I found myself taking care of my parents more than they took care of me, as they struggled with mental health and substance use. That early reversal of roles shaped many of my future relationships, sometimes leaving me vulnerable to manipulation and abuse. One of the hardest experiences was being in an open relationship with a narcissistic partner, where I tried to support another woman he was also involved with. Even as I was being triangulated against, I worked to uplift her voice and plant seeds of strength. Years later, when she faced the same patterns and needed to escape with her child, she reached out to me, and we were able to walk that road of healing together. My journey through complex PTSD, depression, anxiety, and heartbreak has taught me how important it is to have someone who listens without judgment. I would be honored to offer that space for you, wherever you are on your path.

I once left a job that looked amazing on the outside—but behind closed doors, it was chaotic, unkind, and eroding my self-worth. I questioned my judgment, second-guessed every decision, and carried a quiet shame about what had happened. Leaving was only the beginning of healing. I had to unpack what I experienced, untangle my identity from the toxic culture, and remind myself of who I really was. It wasn’t instant, but with reflection, support, and new opportunities, I began to feel strong again. If you’ve walked away from a painful work environment, you’re not alone—and it’s not your fault. Let’s talk about how to process what you’ve been through and rebuild your confidence moving forward.

I started drinking in high school, just partying and having fun—or at least that’s what I told myself. But over the years, that “fun” became a crutch, then a habit, and eventually an addiction. I convinced myself I was a functional alcoholic, even as I racked up DUIs, lost jobs, hurt relationships, and ended up behind bars. My self-worth hit rock bottom. There were times I got sober, but the truth is, relapse happened. And every time it did, the guilt felt heavier. Depression and anxiety were constant shadows. But with outpatient therapy, support from people who cared, and the grace of God, I kept getting back up. Now, I’ve been sober again since March 2025. I understand how hard it is to admit the problem—how scary it feels to start over, especially if you’ve relapsed. But I also know it’s never too late. I’ve helped others get back on their feet and stay there, and I’m here to remind you that you’re not alone and that healing is always possible.

Navigating jealousy and trust has been a major part of my journey in relationships, especially in my current open/polyamorous partnership. I’ve been with my partner for almost five years, and while we’re incredibly happy and engaged, our relationship has required ongoing communication, trust-building, and managing difficult emotions. Early on, I struggled with jealousy, an emotion I hadn’t anticipated in an open relationship. There were moments of insecurity, uncertainty, and fear of losing my partner to someone else. But over time, I learned that jealousy isn’t something to avoid; it’s an emotion to understand and work through. I discovered the importance of setting clear boundaries, checking in regularly with my partner, and being honest with myself about what I needed. These conversations haven’t always been easy, but they’ve strengthened our bond and deepened our trust. I also helped a friend navigate jealousy in her own polyamorous relationship, which gave me even more insight into how to handle these challenges. If you're struggling with jealousy or trust in your open relationship, I’d love to share what’s worked for me and help you navigate these complex feelings with empathy and understanding.

For a long time, I was driven by survival. When my parents divorced in my early teens, our financial world collapsed and I turned to gangs and drugs to cope. I got clean by 16 and shifted into overdrive, becoming a star student, getting into UC Berkeley, and chasing a version of success that looked impressive on the outside. But underneath, I was still operating from fear, anger, and the need to prove my worth. In my 20s and early 30s, I kept achieving professionally but felt emotionally stuck. The success I had built was rooted in pain I hadn’t yet faced. It wasn’t until I became a father that I started to truly slow down and question what was driving me. I realized I didn’t want to just survive anymore, I wanted to be whole. That meant revisiting old wounds, letting go of perfectionism, and learning to lead my life with intention instead of fear. Today, I’m still a work in progress, but I’m no longer pushing from that survival edge. I’ve helped other high performers, founders, and friends recognize their own patterns, and I’d be honored to support you as you shift from surviving to truly living.

I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression for much of my life, but nothing prepared me for the depths of postpartum depression after the birth of my son. It hit me hard—different from anything I had experienced before—and it took a long time to realize that fear and guilt were shaping every part of my early parenting journey. Learning that I could only control so much, and that doing my best was truly enough, was one of the hardest but most freeing lessons. In my personal life, I also have experience supporting others through deeply difficult times, including helping a close friend leave a dangerous and abusive relationship. I know firsthand that true healing often starts by simply having someone willing to listen without judgment. Today, I’m passionate about offering that same space for others: whether you need resources, a sounding board, or simply someone to sit with you while you figure it out, I’m here.

When I was 18, I entered my first long-term relationship, and it lasted over five years. It slowly turned emotionally abusive, filled with threats, manipulation, and deep emotional confusion. I didn’t have the confidence or clarity to leave when I needed to, and staying so long made me feel like I had lost myself. After finally getting out, I spiraled - dealing with complex PTSD, depression, anxiety, and thoughts that scared me. What followed was a years-long journey of coming home to myself. I had to completely overhaul my relationships, learn boundaries, and understand why I kept searching for love outside of me instead of within. I started therapy, found somatic tools, leaned on safe people, and slowly rebuilt my inner voice: the one that says I’m enough. Now, I’m engaged to someone kind and emotionally safe, but that relationship wouldn’t have been possible without first healing the one I have with myself. That’s where all change began. I’d love to support anyone who feels like they’ve lost their sense of self and are ready to reconnect with the person they truly are.