Growing up in the early 2000s, diet culture had a very negative impact on my relationship with food and my body. Societal pressure and generational trauma ingrained in me that I was better off small and frail, rather than confident and healthy. Once I grew into adulthood, I was not prepared for the changes my body would undergo, and did not know how to properly fuel and move my body. This caused me to overcorrect and dive head first into an eating disorder to lose weight that was never a problem in the first place. Over the next ten years, this tapered off rather than came to an immediate end. Eating disorders are years long battles, and sometimes never go away completely. Relapses happen along the way, and what matters more is changing how you react to them. I am fortunate that I have reached a place of self care and acceptance, but this did not come without incredibly hard work and reflection.

I started struggling with anorexia, OCD, depression, and anxiety as a teenager, which led me to outpatient and inpatient treatment before college. Drinking entered my life around 19 or 20 and, at first, it felt like it helped ease my eating issues and anxiety. I didn’t see myself as having a problem, even when I dropped out of college after two years. Through my twenties and thirties, alcohol became a crutch I would return to, especially when life got overwhelming. Being a stay-at-home mom in a place I didn’t love, feeling isolated and stuck, made things worse. By 2016, my drinking was out of control again and my mental health was spiraling. In 2019, after a move to Florida and a month of drinking alone, I looked at myself in the mirror and realized I was done. I got sober that May and have stayed sober ever since. Art, writing, and connecting with others in recovery have helped me heal. Today, I lead a large online sobriety support group and love helping others find their way to a better life too.

I was diagnosed with anorexia at the age of 14 and spent almost a decade fighting with my own mind to nourish my body. In the decades since, I have come to find peace with the body that I am blessed to inhabit, and want to share my experience, strength, and hope with others. To the outside world I may seem “recovered”, but as most of us know who battle with EDs, recovery is a lifelong, daily process. I have learned that I am my own worst critic, and that I do not need to look or act sick to let others know that I am struggling emotionally. I have found my voice, and my purpose, and while I sometimes still have intrusive thoughts when looking at food, I use my nutritional knowledge to nourish myself properly, without rules or restrictions, using creativity to invent healthy recipes and meals to feed myself and my loved ones. I've realized that disordered eating isn’t about food at all… but about control and a sense of self and purpose in the world. I hope to help support you on your journey to being free from the confines of calorie counting & obsession.

Through years of mental rewiring, I practice mindful living. This comes with the often loud voice of self-awareness, as well as presence and acceptance. Mindfulness is the difference between mindlessly binge watching tv that harms your sleep to numb against upset, versus enjoying one cookie. And I obviously still struggle! Acceptance also involves loving your true self and knowing your worth. I'd love to share tips and challenges as we go on a mindful journey together.

Food was never simple for me. Growing up in chaos, meals weren’t about nourishment—they were about survival, control, and sometimes punishment. I learned to use food to cope, to soothe, or to disappear. That left me with habits and shame I carried for decades. I know what it’s like to binge, to restrict, to feel out of control, and to feel like your body is your enemy. With time, I began to separate what was mine from what was survival. I’ve worked on rebuilding trust with my body and unlearning the idea that food is something to fight with. My story isn’t about “perfect eating” or a quick fix—it’s about finding balance, small moments of peace, and self-compassion along the way. If you’ve ever felt that food holds more power than it should, or if you’ve struggled with guilt, control, or shame tied to eating, I get it. You don’t have to face it alone.

Food has always been an important part of my life—and my healing. I come from a family where my grandparents grew their own food and made rustic Italian stews and salads from garden ingredients. My mom was health-conscious too, often limiting sugar and encouraging real, whole foods. But like many families, we also ate out a lot, and processed foods still made their way into my routine. In my adult life, I really took my health into my own hands, managed a juice and smoothie bar, quit drinking and had a spiritual awakening, teaching me to honor my body more, began making more vibrant meals and eating seasonally. But I also learned that eating healthy didn’t have to be expensive or complicated. Through my Certified Health & Nutrition, Food/Mood Life Coaching and years of personal practice, I’ve developed simple systems for eating well—quickly, affordably, and joyfully. These meals not only nourish the body, but help regulate emotions, support gut health, and bring us back to center.

For most of my life, my relationship with food, movement, and my body was driven by control and perfectionism. I believed that “being healthy” meant following rigid rules—counting calories, exercising to earn rest, and chasing a body that was never quite good enough. Every mirror check or skipped workout became a referendum on my worth. I wasn’t trying to feel better; I was trying to be better—according to someone else’s idea of what health and success looked like. But over time, that constant pressure began to unravel me. I was physically exhausted, emotionally disconnected, and mentally consumed by numbers and body image. I realized that I had been using routines to mask deeper discomfort—avoiding stillness, shame, and the fear of not being enough if I let go. The turning point came when I started listening to my body instead of managing it like a project. I learned to move for joy, to eat with presence, and to rest without guilt. Now, I define health more holistically: it’s about feeling at home in myself, not fixing myself. It’s honoring my needs, not overriding them. It’s recognizing that my body is not a problem to solve but a partner to care for. If you’ve ever felt trapped in cycles of “shoulds” around your weight or routines, you’re not alone—and there’s another way forward.

I live at the intersections of body grief, body trust, disability, chronic illness, and eating disorder recovery. My body has been praised, shamed, pathologized, and medicalized while carrying me through pain, fatigue, and systems that were never built with me in mind. Grief lives here. Grief for the bodies I have lost, for the ones I was told I should have, and for the ease I thought existed somewhere else. Recovery for me is not about erasing that grief but about learning to live alongside it, listening to my body’s truth, honoring its limits, and trusting its wisdom. I hold space for others navigating the same terrain, where disability and chronic illness shape the recovery path, and where every body is met with care, dignity, and the freedom to be fully human.

I’m someone who has walked the tough path of recovery, dealing with challenges related to eating disorders (OSFED with anorexic and AFRID tendencies), addiction (including cocaine, Xanax, and marijuana), and mental health struggles like depression, anxiety, PTSD, and OCD. I’ve spent the last two years in recovery, learning how to build a healthier relationship with myself and others. Along the way, I also navigated emotional and verbal abuse, which made my journey even more complex. My goal now is to help others who are facing similar battles, whether it's with eating disorders, addiction, or difficult relationships. I’m here to offer support, share my story, and remind you that recovery is possible—even when it feels impossible.

From 2016 to 2018, I was using cocaine, alcohol, and Vyvanse almost daily. It began as a way to boost my confidence and manage my eating disorder, but quickly took over my life. My relationships with friends and family unraveled, and I felt completely disconnected from who I was. Rehab was a turning point, though it wasn’t smooth—I slipped up in 2020, during one of the hardest moments of my recovery. But that relapse actually woke something up in me. I realized those substances didn’t offer me anything anymore. I wanted more for my life. Since then, I’ve poured my energy into creating a life I want to be fully present in. That’s meant building up my recovery capital—things like skiing, playing music, journaling, breathing deeply, and nurturing real, supportive relationships. I even quit smoking after nearly a decade because I wanted to sing again. I’m a Certified Peer Specialist and Recovery Coach now, and I’d be honored to walk alongside you as you rebuild your life, too—one step at a time.