Can't tell you how often I chased a broken idea of self-improvement; trying to eliminate "flaws," and constantly striving for an ideal version of myself that felt out of reach. The more I pushed toward that impossible standard, the more disconnected I felt. But growth isn’t about perfection—it’s about exploration. We evolve not by erasing the parts of us we struggle with, but by understanding them, accepting them, and finding authentic ways to move forward. Philosophy has played a huge role in reshaping how I approach self-development, helping me see life less as a rigid path. It can be hard to navigate the tension between self-acceptance and wanting to grow—breaking free from unrealistic expectations and exploring self-reflection in a way that actually feels fulfilling. If you’ve ever struggled with self-doubt or felt like you’re "not enough," let’s take a step back. It doesn’t have to be about fixing—it can be about understanding and embracing the complexity of who you are.

There were times in my life when I felt completely untethered, unsure of where I was headed, doubting whether I had anything meaningful to offer the world. I went through phases of chasing achievements, external validation, or whatever seemed like the ‘right’ next step, hoping it would give me a sense of purpose. But it never felt quite right. Eventually, I realized purpose isn’t something you stumble upon in a single moment—it’s something that evolves, shifts, and grows with you. It’s about understanding your values, what truly resonates with you, and how you want to engage with the world. And sometimes, the first step is simply allowing yourself the space to ask questions without pressure to have all the answers right away. Through peer support, I’ve helped others explore what purpose means to them—not as an obligation, but as a process of discovery. If you’re feeling stuck, uncertain, or lost in the "what’s next?" of life, I get it. Let’s take the time to navigate it together.

When I was in college, I thought I had to have everything figured out—career, relationships, calling, identity. The truth? I didn’t. And that pressure almost crushed me, leading me to graduate high school at 16, college at 20 and then go on to earn my MA at 22. Now, after decades of experience as a professor, coach, and mentor to young women navigating these same questions, I’ve learned that clarity doesn’t come from forcing a five-year plan—it comes from learning to listen inward and upward. I love helping young women who feel stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure of their next step rediscover who they are and how to move forward with purpose and peace.

I wasn’t really able to get to the bottom of my healing process until I started to connect my shortcomings to things I had experienced in the past. Whether it was my need to control everything around me or my tendency to dissociate in stressful situations, once I realized the events in my life that caused this conditioning, I was able to change the framework in my brain in order to approach situations in a more productive way. Trauma continuously happens throughout your life, and if left unaddressed can further deteriorate your mental health as you age. The good news, however, is that once you get a grasp on your past traumas, you become much more aware of traumas as they happen. Eventually, this leads to the harmonious practice of mindfulness - basically addressing and processing emotions as they happen so that they don't accumulate and leave you feeling stuck.

I was studying psychology in college and dreamed of becoming a psychologist. But before I even graduated, I began experiencing delusions and deep emotional swings I couldn’t explain. I was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and everything shifted. My diagnosis made it feel like my career goals slipped out of reach, and I lost my footing. I turned to substances like weed, alcohol, psychedelics to cope. I found myself in a string of chaotic and toxic relationships, including one that turned physically abusive. I overstayed, not trusting myself to leave, until I finally reached a breaking point. Medication helped, but so did having people in my life who reminded me I was still worthy of love and healing. Meeting my now-husband helped me believe in my future again. I got sober in 2023, and even though I still live with bipolar disorder, it no longer defines what I can’t do, it helps me know exactly what I need to thrive. If you’re navigating life after diagnosis, I want you to know you’re not alone. There is a path forward, and it gets clearer with time and support.

I've spent the majority of my life figuring out how to move beyond the persistent hopelessness I've felt trying to navigate a world in flux. Whether it was figuring out an effective therapeutic protocol for my CPTSD, going through a breakup with my long-term partner, repositioning myself professionally, repairing family dynamics, or working through unhealthy coping mechanisms, I've had to find my way through the dark night of the soul time and again. It hasn't been easy, but I am continually finding ways to make it more meaningful. For me, the existential struggle isn't just personal. It's also social, ecological, and cosmological. Adopting this holistic lens gives me a sense of ease in an otherwise anxious body. I'm actively working on building healthy social relationships, reconnecting with the living world around me, and developing my capacity to be a more mindful being. Curiosity and creativity are my primary guides for navigating experiences, both pleasant and unpleasant.

Few things cut as deeply as losing a romantic partner—the One. Heartbreak can feel catastrophic, like the ground has disappeared. I’ve lived through that unraveling: the end of a love I thought would last forever. For months I replayed conversations, questioned where it went wrong, and felt stuck in a loop that still lingers. Heartbreak isn’t just about the person—it’s about attachment, the way we wire safety and love into another. When it shatters, trust feels impossible. I isolated, doubted partnership, and clung to patterns that kept me stuck. Yet heartbreak is also a teacher. It’s forced me to slow down, examine my attachment style, and learn self-care and self-love. Our need for connection doesn’t vanish when we’re single—I’ve found it through friendship, creativity, community, and spirit, while staying open to love again. If you’re in heartbreak, know you don’t have to face it alone—we can process, make sense of emotions, and deepen your relationship with yourself.

As someone who's made multiple big career shifts, I know firsthand how scary it is. I've gone from the military, to massage therapy, to "Big Tech", now entrepreneurship, and tons of odd jobs in between. Through my journey, I've read countless books, gotten therapy and coaching, and taken the scary actions so that I can now help you with your career journey. I personally believe that the way we spend the majority of our waking life matters. If you're disinterested, bored, morally conflicted, burnt-out, under-paid, or under-utilized; you can reinvent your career and your life.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the things people usually avoid: meaning, purpose, death, the big “why.” It messes with my head in the best and worst ways. Sometimes I spiral into it at 3am and everything feels pointless. Other times I find profound meaning in the way light hits my coffee cup and just shrug at the mystery of it all. Both responses are part of the same beautifully weird picture. I find a weird comfort in not knowing, strange relief in admitting I’m completely winging it, and oddly satisfying meaning in moments that make zero logical sense. That feels more real than pretending I have it all figured out. That’s exactly what I bring to this space: permission to be beautifully lost, to find strange comfort in uncertainty, and to talk about the weird shit that keeps you up at night. If you're the type of person who resonates with this, we might be fit. I see you.

Over time, I've learned to challenge those societal norms and embrace the fact that my mental health, my emotions, and my identity are all valid parts of who I am. I've started to let go of the need to fit into prescribed boxes and embrace the messy, beautiful complexity of being human. It hasn’t been easy, and there are still moments where doubt creeps in, but I no longer feel the pressure to pretend everything’s fine when it's not. I’m slowly learning to be kinder to myself and give myself the space to explore who I am, outside the constraints of society's expectations. This journey of self-acceptance has been liberating—I'm no longer living in the shadows of perfection or the fear of judgment. Instead, I’m embracing my uniqueness and finding strength in my authenticity. It’s empowering to know that I don’t have to conform to anyone else’s idea of “normal” to be worthy or happy. Every step forward is a victory, and I’m learning to celebrate myself for all that I am.

The biggest challenge was coming out to myself. In the recovery community we talk about the "gifts of sobriety," things we learn about ourselves once the substance induced haze dissipates. My coming out was just that.....a gift. I had just turned 50 when I told my drinking story at a women's AA meeting. While I was clueless about myself, every lesbian in the room knew I was one of them. Due to internalized homophobia and unfamiliarity with the lifestyle, I intuitively felt threatened: I was embarrassed and ashamed, afraid of rejection. Being in corporate mode, I "hired" a "consultant" to help me assess my status. In the process, I found I already had lesbian friends. I found acceptance of myself and others. Whether you knew when you were 8 or are just now in discovery, coming out can be the most liberating of experiences. I've been there, done that, and I can help make your journey easier. You don't have to navigate it alone. Let me co-pilot your journey of discovery.

My midlife moment didn’t arrive all at once. The first jolt came when I had a heart attack at 39 — a wake-up call that forced me to confront mortality earlier than I expected. But in some ways, the more jarring shift happened almost a decade later, when I began aging in a way I couldn’t ignore. I had looked 35 until nearly 50, and then—seemingly overnight—I started seeing someone different in the mirror. It wasn’t just about appearance; it was about identity. I felt like I was grieving the version of myself I had been for so long: the youthful guy whose age always surprised people. Suddenly, I wasn’t him anymore. At the same time, I was recommitting to my passion for acting after over a decade in a corporate career. But that brought its own challenges. I worried I was now past the age for the roles I once longed to play. The dream hadn’t died — but the terms had changed. I found myself reckoning with feelings of failure, burnout, and the question of whether I had anything meaningful to show for all the years I’d been chasing this path. The journey since then hasn’t been linear. But now in my 50's with time, reflection, and some truly fulfilling projects under my belt, I’ve begun to make peace with what midlife means for me. I still have goals, but I no longer define success by rigid milestones or external validation. I’ve discovered the beauty of aging into new kinds of roles — on stage, in life, and in community. I’ve also come to see purpose not as a destination, but as a way of being: evolving, internal, and intimately mine. That shift has made space for acceptance, clarity, and even joy in the person I’m becoming.

Depression has been a silent shadow in my life. Sometimes heavy, sometimes barely visible, but always there. It’s the weight in my chest, the fog in my mind, the ache in my bones. It’s the exhaustion that sleep won’t fix, and the hollow feeling even when everything should feel okay. It’s more than sadness. It’s numbness. It’s guilt for not being able to “snap out of it.” It’s the quiet wondering if you’re ever going to feel like yourself again, or if you ever did. But here’s what I know now. Depression lies. It tells you you’re lazy, unlovable, or broken. But none of that is true. Through years of unraveling shame, surviving bad days, and holding on by the thinnest threads, I’ve come to know depression intimately. Not as a moral failure, but as a wound in need of care. If you’re tired, if you’re hurting, if you’re barely hanging on, I get it. I’m not here to push you toward false positivity. I’m here to sit with you in the real.

I grew up going to a Southern Baptist church 3 days a week. I was committed, prayerful, and devoted to what I believed was a personal relationship with Christ. Yet there was a constant friction, because I also value equality and empathy, which often conflicted with the rigid teachings around me. This led to constant feelings of guilt and cognitive dissonance. One Sunday in my mid 20s , the dissonance dissipated and I found clarity. Despite my desperate prayers and the sobs heaving in my chest, I was met with total silence. This silence was not the peaceful kind, but the kind that reveals truth. I then realized that no divine rescue was ever coming, and I would have to be my own savior. That realization was the catalyst for not only leaving the church, but also leaving a seven year long abusive relationship. I began the painful, liberating journey of reclaiming my identity. My story now allows me to hold space for others who are facing religious trauma and spiritual deconstruction.

As an artist, much of my life can feel like reinvention and rebirth, but at the center of all my iterations are a set of core values that is unshakeable and provides a thread through all of my stories, projects, aesthetic changes, relationships, and interests. It's been invaluable to feel grounded by my beliefs, even as goals shift. I'd love the opportunity to help you define those for yourself; to give you a sense of unshakable structure that you can use for all kinds of decisions: Does this new romantic partner share my values? Does this potential new gig line up with what I want to support? Does buying this new outfit/gadget/decoration reflect my innermost desires? Let's chat and find what anchors you to be able to make each move with confidence.

A few years ago (at about 47 years old), I was going through a very difficult time at my job. Beyond my normal anxiety that comes up with challenging work dynamics, I was just not my best self. I noticed that I was also starting to have hot flashes, especially when I was anxious or frustrated. I asked my doctor for approval for a medical leave of absence, which she approved, and said that I thought the situation might be exacerbated by hormonal shifts. She poo-pooed it but my symptoms (albeit reduced) continued. About a year later, I went in for my annual physical and insisted that she check my hormone levels, thinking I must be in perimenopause. When the results came back, my doctor told me I was fully in menopause. I learned that it's so important to advocate for yourself (even with a female physician) and give yourself grace with changes in mood, physical changes like weight gain, etc. when navigating this mid-life transition.