For years, I have walked through and withstood constant conflict, misunderstanding, criticism, and an unhealthy home environment when it comes to my relationship with my mother. There is a nearly impenetrable wall of hurt, rejection, and misunderstanding between us. I truly understand the feeling of desperation and being trapped in your own home, dreading times when someone will be walking through the door because you don't know what mood they're in. I know the feeling of desperately trying to keep emotion bottled up inside so you don't lash out at the person, whether it be verbally or emotionally. And oh how I know the frustration of someone denying that things have happened when you know for a fact that they have. Have you heard of the five love languages? They are: acts of service, quality time, physical touch, gift giving, and words of affirmation. Our primary way of feeling loved typically happens when the other person speaks our love language. This doesn't happen between my mother and I. Whether it's because I'm adopted or she truly doesn't understand, I don't feel loved. Sure, my family has always provided for me. However, my top two love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation. Our personalities clash. She's not affectionate, she's an introvert, and she feels the need for perfection. I'm the exact opposite. Can you relate? Do you need to feel heard, understood, validated, appreciated for your strengths, etc? Let's chat. I can imagine how you feel, and I would love to provide you with a safe space for you to relax, breathe, vent, cry, or whatever it is that you need in that conflict

Ever had conversations that should have been simple—expressing feelings, setting boundaries, navigating friendships—but felt like puzzles with missing pieces? Yeah, always been that way with me. Sometimes I felt like too much, sometimes too little, and almost always like I was being misunderstood. I’ve spent years untangling that sense of disconnection—communicating in a way that feels true to me while still bridging the gap with others. Through my work in peer support, I’ve helped people recognize their own emotional language, whether it’s through words, actions, or quiet understanding. You don’t have to force yourself into someone else’s mold to be heard. If you’ve ever struggled to express your feelings or felt like you just don’t "fit" emotionally, I get it. Let’s explore how you naturally communicate and find ways to connect with the people who truly understand you.

Growing up mainly involved managing my parent's emotions instead of the other way around. Conversations felt unpredictable—sometimes too much, sometimes too little—and I found myself taking on roles I wasn’t meant to carry. Whether it was absorbing their stress, minimizing my feelings to keep the peace, or feeling unseen in moments when I needed support. It shaped the way I viewed myself and my relationships. I struggled to untangle what was me versus what was a survival response to the dynamics I grew up with. It took time, reflection, and effort to recognize that I didn’t have to carry the emotional weight of others. Learning to separate my identity from my upbringing gave me space to redefine self-worth on my terms and finally set emotional boundaries. If you’ve ever felt like you’ve had to shrink yourself, over-function, or fight to be understood, let’s explore how you can step into your own identity—without guilt or fear, and heal from the impact of emotionally immature parents.

I have both personal and professional experience with establishing boundaries. Personally, I have learned the difference between boundaries, desires and demands, and the benefits of establishing and upholding my personal boundaries. As a life coach I have been granted the opportunity to help others to recognize the same. I find boundaries to be important to well-being, and gaining a true understanding of what boundaries are, as well as what they are not, as crucial to the process. You are your own person, therefore your boundaries should be your own, for you, and contribute to your personal growth and wellness. I would love to help you in cultivating your own beneficial boundaries.

For several years, I was estranged from my sister, which was a painful and disorienting experience that came with layers of grief, shame, and family pressure. I know what it feels like to consider cutting someone out entirely, to face holidays and milestones with unresolved tension, and to navigate the silent weight of not talking about what happened. After years apart, my sister and I are now slowly rebuilding a connection; not by rehashing the past, but by relating to each other in new, healthier ways. If you're struggling with sibling estrangement, navigating pressure from family to reconcile, or unsure how to reconnect after long-term disconnection, I offer a nonjudgmental space to talk through the complexity of it all. You're not alone.

As a daughter of traditional South Asian immigrants, my upbringing was quite different than my American peers. I still hesitate to share if I'm hanging out with a male friend, even though I am pestered about marriage. Getting older has also involved outgrowing attitudes about myself, family, and relationships that hold me back, guilt included. I've worked to find my authentic self and accept occasionally being the black sheep in my close-knit family whom I love being near, but still need to enact boundaries with or know when to deep breathe instead of react. This also involves understanding the challenges with comparing to cousins in India, or peers whose parents grew up in America. If you've been stressed by the conflict of the third-culture sandwich, I'd love to chat.

Do you ever wish your sibling relationship looked like the ones you see on TV—supportive, loyal, and close—but you’ve accepted it may never be that way? If you’re tired of the hurt and the hope colliding, let’s talk. Maybe you just need space to grieve what the relationship isn’t, or maybe you want to explore ways to protect your peace when family dynamics get messy. I get it—it’s painful to realize you can’t change someone else, but you can change how much control they have over your well-being. For many, siblings aren’t the safe place they hoped for. Maybe you’re just never on the same page, or maybe their behavior makes closeness feel out of reach. Longing for connection that isn’t there is exhausting, and what makes it worse is when family blames you for not trying harder to “fix” things. I’ve lived through sibling disconnect myself, and I know how deep it cuts. That’s why I hold space for these conversations—to remind you that you don’t have to carry that hurt alone.

I was married when my husband told me he should have been a woman. That revelation cracked open everything I thought I knew—about my marriage, my sexuality, and my worth as a woman. I questioned my desirability, my femininity, and whether my needs even mattered. I attempted to go along with this change for about a year but divorce was the end result. I walked through a storm of emotions that most people never talk about. It's affected me in surprising and lasting ways. I'm very liberal and have many trans and queer friends but having my partner want that within our relationship was really something I never thought i'd have to navigate. More then anything tho, i yearned to find someone who had gone through what i was going thru. It was incredibly isolating.

I am the parent of two kiddos who experience the world deeply and fully in what feels like every moment. There are sensory challenges, misunderstandings, stimming, and hyperfixations that we navigate together all of the time. We are aiming to raise our kids with intentionality so they understand themselves and their needs while not making them feel like anything is "wrong" with them, the tricky balance of it all. They are extraordinary in a world not really built for how they experience things, so we work together on how to move through the world so they feel safe and supported.

I grew up in the Dominican Republic and moved to the U.S. when I was five. My childhood was shaped by the reality of addiction, my cousin was using cocaine and I’d watch him sleep all day and stay up all night. He was kind, but deeply ashamed, and I remember how hard it was to see someone I loved struggle so much. My grandfather also struggled with alcoholism and eventually died from liver failure. Watching two people I cared about suffer like that taught me that addiction isn’t about being bad, it’s about being stuck in something painful. It hurts the person using, and it hurts the people who love them too. I barely drink now because of what I lived through, but I’ve never stopped believing there’s hope for people who use. I’ve shared my story with friends who were drinking heavily, and sometimes it helped them pause and think differently. I’ve been that listener for others who are hurting: someone who doesn’t judge, who gets it, and who knows what it’s like to love someone who can’t seem to stop. If you’re going through that now, I’d be honored to sit with you in it.

I have two adult children, both approaching retirement age, who still blame and resent me as a mother. For years, I felt sad and envious of my friends’ child relations. I thought if I just said it this way or didn't do that that we'd progress. While I understand they could feel betrayed using the perfect mother model, I no longer accept the perfect mother standard. I now understand that past mistakes don't define me today. I was being unrealistic in the present. And once I "got it" things improved, and I felt better. The first big step was to stop listening to abusive complaints and accusations. Today I use a soft voice to say enough now I’m hanging up. Then I do. Once I got clear on my boundaries, their behavior improved (and so did mine!). It's been a long journey with periodic missteps. With help I have more tools to work with. I'm not as angry. I have hope and even some satisfaction. If you are ready to get off that toxic treadmill, join me. Let's find your boundaries.

I’ve lived a full life—with all the ups, downs, sharp turns, and potholes that come with it. I'm a mother of two sons of retirement age: the younger, I'm total estranged from, and it's the same as losing a child; the elder, a practicing alcoholic, is tricky. As a former marriage and family therapist, a caregiver for my dad during his final years, and someone who has fought my own battles with addiction and recovery, I deeply understand being in hard places. My struggles were relationship acceptance and guilt and shame. I was an inadequate parent and it brought great pain to us all. But I finally sought help. I no longer accept the unrealistic perfect mother model. Once I understood my boundaries, our relationship improved. I stopped listening to abusive complaints. Now we can tell when things are "going south" and we can gracefully withdraw from conflict. Acceptance and boundaries are game changers. They can be for you, too. Let me support and help guide you in this process.

I was just 18 when I adopted my first child. Some people told me I was too young. Others told me I’d never love him the same as I would a “child of my own.” But the moment I became his mother, I knew something they didn’t. That love isn’t about blood. Love is a choice. And I chose him, fully. That child showed me what true love is. He softened me. He matured me. He made me want to be better in every possible way. Years later, I gave birth to two more children. I can honestly say this: my love for my adopted son is no different than the love I have for the children I carried. He's not “like” my son. He is my son. Always has been. Always will be. Adoption gave me purpose. It shaped the mother I became. And if you’ve adopted, are thinking about it, or are navigating the complexities of blended or non-traditional families. I’d love to hold space for that with you.

While I never looked up to my parents’ relationship as an ideal, I didn’t realize there were serious problems until fairly recently. After more than 30 years of marriage, they decided to get divorced (a decision that came after my dad suffered a stroke and began experiencing noticeable personality changes). Unfortunately, he refuses to acknowledge those changes, which caused increasing tension between him and my mom and eventually led to him moving out. At the beginning of their separation, both of my parents involved me heavily, often trying to pit me against the other. It was emotionally exhausting and put a strain not only on my relationship with each of them but also on the broader family. Many of us didn’t know how to handle the shifting dynamics, and it led to confusion, discomfort, and conflict. Ultimately, I’ve gone very low contact with my dad and relatively low contact with my mom. But the situation is fluid. I’ve left room for things to change if and when I feel they’re making meaningful efforts. It’s been painful, but it’s also helped me grow into a deeper acceptance of the reality of adult family dynamics. One unexpected positive is that my brother (who’s 10 years older) and I have started comparing notes about our childhoods and discovered some shared experiences we hadn’t talked about before. If you're navigating the breakup of your parents’ long-term marriage (especially as an adult), I want you to know that it’s okay to feel grief, anger, confusion, and even relief all at once. I can help you make sense of the shifting relationships, set boundaries, and find peace in the messiness.

In 2023, my brother’s partner tragically passed away, leaving behind two young children. This loss has been incredibly challenging, but it has also given me insight into grief, family dynamics, and resilience. While managing my own grief, I also helped support my niece and nephew, who were only 3 and 4 years old at the time. It was heartbreaking to witness their pain and confusion, but it also showed me the importance of providing a steady and supportive presence during such a difficult time. In the midst of this, I also made the tough decision to go low-contact with my parents due to long-standing unresolved issues. Navigating both the grief of losing my brother’s partner and the tension in my family has shaped how I approach relationships and conflict. I've learned the importance of boundaries, self-compassion, and resilience. I now have a deeper understanding of how grief and family dynamics can impact not only those who are grieving but also the relationships that remain. Through this experience, I hope to be a source of support for others who are facing similar challenges.

As someone who’s ambiverted, I’ve had the unique perspective of living in both worlds—knowing when to hold space quietly and when to speak with conviction. Through my travels, moving across the country, and dating people from different cultures and ethnicities, I’ve learned firsthand how powerful communication can be in bridging differences. With family from multiple countries, I’ve seen how cultural dynamics shape the way we express needs, set boundaries, and navigate conflict. These lived experiences, combined with completing 500+ coaching sessions as a Certified Empowerment Life Coach, have allowed me to truly fine-tune my skills in helping others honor their voice, set healthy limits, and create relationships that feel authentic and respectful. My approach is rooted in compassion, curiosity, and clarity—because I believe every conversation has the power to either build walls or create deeper connection.

I spent my younger life wondering why it felt I was missing a key piece of myself and unable to fit in with people around me. Turned out, in my case, this was partly due to a void in my life of not having a father. For some people that doesn't seem to matter, but for me, it was a key piece of how I interacted with others. As I began to discover myself through therapy, I learned I could easily feel perspectives of other people's circumstances. You know the phrase "Put yourself in my shoes?" Well, I feel that I literally can. In fact, my friends were often discussing their problems with me. They said I listened well and asked questions that helped them see their situation from new angles. My own life experiences are varied enough now to offer a wide span of perspectives. From growing up without a father to marrying someone who didn't speak English to restarting my career several times, I'm a well-rounded, emotionally intelligent, active listening, empathetic soul. Communication is key.

Healing from trauma often feels like swimming upstream, especially when the people around you don’t understand or acknowledge your pain. Family dynamics can be some of the hardest waters to navigate. The same people who hurt you are often the ones you feel obligated to stay connected to, or even love in ways that don’t honor your own healing. I’ve had to face this challenge myself—balancing the desire for connection with the need for self-protection. The truth is, healing from trauma doesn’t always mean cutting off family. Sometimes, it means learning how to show up for yourself in their presence. Setting boundaries that are both firm and loving. And learning to hold space for the reality that people may never change in the ways you want them to. In my own journey, I’ve had to face painful truths about my family’s role in my trauma. I’ve had to find the courage to protect myself while still navigating relationships that are deeply rooted in my history. And I’ve learned that healing isn’t just about what you leave behind—it’s also about how you choose to move forward, even with the difficult people and dynamics still in your life. If you’re struggling with how to show up for yourself while still holding space for family, I’d love to talk. You don’t have to go through it alone.

I’ve walked through the pain of heartbreak—friendship, family, and love—that once left me in depression. But within that darkness, I discovered light: my true essence and unshakable value. Healing wasn’t instant, but through reflection, self-love, and growth, I transformed pain into strength. Today I stand as living proof that even in brokenness, we can rise, rebuild, and shine brighter than before.

I live in a very red rural conservative county. While many of the inhabitants are accepting of my new role as a mother of a POC (Person of Color) child, many loud voices say or do insensitive or hurtful things. Things no little kid should have to hear or be exposed to. Worse yet are those who don't know or admit their racism but still allow it to guide their actions and words. Not only is it very isolating it leaves me feeling on edge and constantly on guard in public and even at home if we step out the door. Sometimes I worry someone might hurt my child when she wants to play outside or she might see something or hear something on TV or radio. I know I cannot protect her forever but the feeling persists. I struggled to learn how to care for her unique mixed hair and later to afford that care all without help of her father or his family. I strive to raise her with age appropriate knowledge about her heritage without excusing of sugar coating the sins of the past, of white people.