Life can shift in ways we never planned for—new jobs, moves, breakups, health changes, or sudden losses. Even good changes can feel overwhelming when the future looks unclear. I’ve been through my share of upheaval and have learned how to find steadiness when the ground feels unsteady. In our conversation, you’ll have a safe space to talk through what’s changing, process the emotions, and explore ways to ground yourself when nothing feels certain. Best For: Big life transitions (expected or unexpected) Feeling anxious or “stuck” in the unknown Wanting to find a sense of stability and control What You’ll Get: A judgment-free place to name your fears and hopes Practical grounding and self-care ideas Support in mapping your next small, doable steps

Because I get it. After facing a life-threatening health scare, rebuilding my life, healing relationships, overcoming anxiety, and making powerful changes in my health and habits, I’ve learned what it takes to create lasting transformation from the inside out. Now I help others do the same — with compassion, clarity, and zero judgment.

Midlife is not for the faint of heart!! I am a 45 year old woman, going through peri-menopause, living sober, with a husband of 20 years and two children, ages 20 and 16. So I get it ladies. Mental health challenges, physical challenges, life goals and values are different now than they were twenty plus years ago… but we are wiser now too!! With experience and wisdom, along with a few wrinkles, we have stamina and mental endurance that we need to harness and nurture. A year before I turned 40, I moved my family from the Northeast (where I had always lived) to the sunny shores of southeast Florida. I demanded that the next chapter of my life be on my terms, focusing on my own mental and emotional health and wellbeing. After years of being a caretaker, it was my turn to look inward and refocus my intentions creatively to build a life that reflects who I want to be and how I want to impact the community around me. We all deserve to live purposefully, one day at a time.

Talk with me about the ups and downs of living with bipolar: especially the crashes that can feel heavy, frustrating, and out of your control. I’ve been there myself. Over time, I’ve learned to see those crashes not as personal failures, but as my body’s wisdom calling me to rest and restore. In this session, you’ll have a safe space to process what you’re experiencing, release self-judgment, and begin to reframe your relationship with your cycles. Together, we’ll explore gentle ways to honor your body, stabilize your emotions, and move forward with compassion for yourself.

I live with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and polymyalgia rheumatica: chronic pain and fatigue that nobody can see while everyone expects me to just "power through." I know what it's like to look fine but feel terrible, and how exhausting it gets explaining why some days I can function and others I can't. And the constant unsolicited advice? Exhausting. I'm here for the real conversations about living with invisible illness. The guilt from canceling plans again, the frustration of medical gaslighting, the isolation when people don't understand that "getting better" isn't always the goal. No forced positivity, no pressure to be grateful for "lessons." Just honest talk about navigating life when your body doesn't cooperate and the world isn't built for people like us. I know how lonely chronic and invisible illness can be. You're not alone.

Everyone said certain health challenges that started in graduate school would go away once I left the stressful environment. But they were here to stay. While peers spend their vacation leave and money on trips, I spend my sick leave and funds on doctor's appointments and interventions - all while managing conditions and treatments discreetly for co-occurring conditions. If you struggle with sleep, pain, anxiety, or GI issues - as well as as "gymtimidation," or having to choose sneakers over cute heels - I'm here for you.

I was severely sick my entire pregnancy, I couldn’t eat without it coming back up, I was dismissed, and told to “well you are pregnant” at my appointments. I had gestational anemia that never went away. My birth was so severe I almost died. No one listened. Afterward, I spiraled into postpartum depression I was already at risk for, & it was the most isolating, guilt-filled time of my life. I didn’t bond with my baby right away. I couldn’t breastfeed. I felt like a failure. If you’re in that place now—or if you’re still pregnant and no one’s taking your pain seriously—I see you. I can help you prepare for appointments, advocate for yourself, and speak the truth when no one else will. I’ll hold space for the postpartum thoughts you’re too afraid to say out loud—the ones that feel shameful, confusing, or make you question if you’re a good mom. You’re not broken. You’re not alone. And here’s a secret if you are worried and thinking “I’m a bad mom” that alone tells me, you are a good mom.

Aging is a tricky thing. I have learned so much about life, myself, transition and reclaiming as I've journeyed through the last 15+ years. No one prepared me for the cycles and what would be happening. I have discovered that I was and am able to recenter myself and be authentic and whole. The journey is hard. I have lived experience with childhood trauma, disordered eating, substance abuse and early widowhood. I imagined that once I reached 50's it would be smooth sailing. I was wrong! Let's talk about your experiences and discover how you can be your best as you grow!

For years, my mental health was like a storm I was expected to weather alone. I lived with the weight of PTSD, anxiety, depression, and trauma — often while trying to show up for others, keep a roof over my head, or pretend I was “fine.” On top of it all, I was navigating sobriety, chronic illness, and the emotional wreckage of abuse and loss. What I didn’t know back then was that struggling doesn’t mean I’m broken. It means I’ve been through things that require care — not shame. Over time, I learned how to advocate for my needs, recognize when I was in survival mode, and build mental health routines that actually supported me, not just masked symptoms. Mental health is a journey — not a checklist. And if you’re somewhere in the middle of that journey, I want you to know you don’t have to figure it all out alone. Whether you’ve been dismissed, misdiagnosed, or overwhelmed, I’d be honored to talk with you about how to find your way forward.

When I was 27, I was diagnosed with soft tissue sarcoma in my right thigh. After radiation, surgery, and chemotherapy, I was cancer-free. Due to so much of my muscle tissue being removed, I joke that I no longer have a quad muscle, but a "throd." This was especially difficult for me as I had run several marathons and was training for the New York Marathon when I got my diagnosis. I was engaged and ended up not postponing the wedding, and I am bald in my wedding photos. My wedding vows included a joke: "I'm sick and poor, so I know you are not lying when you agree to these vows." After I recovered, I started running again, and 5 years later, my leg broke due to the bone being weakened by the radiation. I had to go through multiple surgeries, receiving a bone graft from my hip and a pin in my leg. For a long time, I was angry and full of self-pity, but I realized that I could not change my circumstances, and once I accepted it, I was able to draw strength from the experience.

For five years—ages 18 to 23—I managed congestive heart failure. Medications, specialist appointments, lifestyle changes, exploring every option available. I told myself I would be alright, but deep down, I knew things were getting worse. My body was exhausted. I felt hopeless while struggling through the daily realities of heart failure. The idea of needing an organ transplant felt overwhelming—too big, too final, too terrifying to face. So I kept searching. I hoped things might improve with stem cell therapy. I was scared. What if the surgery failed? What if I didn’t find a donor in time? What would recovery even look like? I worried about the toll on my family, the financial weight, and the uncertainty of life after transplant. But slowly, I came to understand that waiting was its own risk. Staying in survival mode wasn’t truly living. And when things got worse, I had to be brave. I listened to the doctors. I pushed through the discomfort, the fear, the unknowns. The journey hasn’t been easy. There were setbacks, sleepless nights, and moments of deep uncertainty. But there was also clarity, connection, and incredible support. I learned to advocate for myself, to lean on others, and—slowly—to trust my body again. I found strength I didn’t know I had. And when the day finally came—the surgery, the healing, the second chance—I was terrified… but I was ready. Now, I’ve rebuilt life with new energy, deeper perspective, and lasting gratitude. If you’re facing the possibility of a transplant—or navigating the emotional weight of that decision—you are not alone. I’ve been there. Let’s talk about your journey and what healing could look like for you.

One morning in my early 20s, I woke up unable to unclench my fist. That moment cascaded into years of misdiagnoses, difficult medication trials, and the accumulation of medical trauma while I tried to navigate healthcare systems and get to the bottom of what was happening to me. I could no longer balance my life, I had to learn to accept how my life was changing. During this time, I felt isolated from my friends as I could no longer keep up with them. I had to grieve the life I used to have while learning to navigate a new one, all while managing painful symptoms and life obligations. What helped the most was hearing the stories of those who had experienced similar issues with chronic illness , as well as reframing my experiences with the help of a therapist. I began to be able to feel validated, accept help, and release some of my pent up anger in healthier ways. I'd like to offer my support as a person who can understand your experiences navigating life with chronic illness.

I started using drugs when I was 13—first cannabis and alcohol, then eventually harder substances like ecstasy, MDMA, and cocaine. For over a decade, drugs were how I coped with pain, trauma, and grief I didn’t know how to face. I thought I was escaping, but I was really burying myself under layers of hurt I didn’t yet have the tools to process. After years of spiraling and a drug-induced psychosis that shook me to my core, I made the decision to quit cold turkey in 2021. Recovery wasn’t a clean, linear path—it was painful, raw, and real. I had to relearn who I was without the numbing. I had to sit with everything I’d been running from. And I had to rebuild my nervous system, my sense of self, and my trust in life. I’ve supported my recovery with nearly two decades of therapy, mindfulness, and inner work. I’ve faced down the realities of complex PTSD, depression, anxiety, and chronic illness—all of which were entangled in my addiction story. But most importantly, I’ve learned that healing is possible. Not perfect. Not easy. But deeply, beautifully real. I’m here for anyone walking that terrifying, courageous path toward sobriety—whether you're just beginning or have been in recovery for years.

Being married while living with mental illness adds layers most people never see. It’s not just about love—it's about learning how to stay connected through depression, anxiety, trauma, and all the unpredictable shifts that come with them. It’s about trying to explain what’s going on inside when you don’t fully understand it yourself. It's about feeling guilt for how your illness impacts your partner, while also needing space and compassion to survive another day. In my marriage, I’ve had to learn how to communicate in ways that are honest but not harmful. I’ve had to set boundaries not just for myself, but for the relationship. I’ve struggled with moments of disconnection, resentment, and fear—but I’ve also learned how powerful it is to grow together when both people are committed to understanding each other deeply. Mental illness doesn't make you unlovable, and it doesn’t mean your relationship is doomed. But it does require intentional work—on yourself, on communication, and on your shared vision of what love looks like when things are hard. If you’re trying to figure out how to stay grounded in your marriage while navigating your own inner battles, I’d love to talk. You’re not alone.

I think I’ve had mental health challenges since grade school, but I was not diagnosed with depression till high school and then in my 30s. I was diagnosed with bipolar. I felt stigmatized and alone. At first, I hid my diagnosis, not wanting anyone to know even lying on job applications so no one was find out, but I eventually accepted my mental health diagnosis and work towards finding the right medication combination and coping skills to have the life that I now have now I can help you accept your diagnosis and move forward.

Life has challenged me in many ways: navigating divorce, raising 2 children as a single parent, experiencing job loss, and facing burnout. There were times I felt overwhelmed and stuck, unsure how to move forward amid so much change. What helped me most were honest moments of being truly heard, developing steady wellness routines, and learning to be patient with myself through the process. My experience as a doctor and trained listener deepened my understanding of how powerful it is to simply show up with care and attention. Now, I want to offer that same steady, compassionate presence to anyone facing similar struggles. Whether it’s relationship changes, family transitions, career shifts, or the feeling of being stuck,- I’m here to listen, support, and help you find your way forward, one conversation at a time

I spent many years feeling lost, but through deep personal work, a range of healing modalities, and my continued education in a Master of Social Work program, I’ve gained valuable tools to support others on their journey. I bring both lived experience and professional training to help individuals better understand themselves, identify their needs, set healthy boundaries, and build lives that feel authentic and fulfilling. I've navigated a variety of physical and mental health diagnoses, the grief of letting go of relationships that no longer served me, and the ongoing process of rebuilding with intention and self-awareness. My approach is compassionate, nonjudgmental, and rooted in the belief that healing is possible—and that no one has to do it alone.

At 45, I was diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer after a routine mammogram and ultrasound: my doctor found a small, hormone-positive tumor in my left breast. I had no history of breast cancer, so it was unexpected and shocking. I’m now cancer-free after surgery and radiation, but the journey was more than medical. It was deeply personal.. I faced the challenges of talking to my 10 year old kids about my diagnosis, finding the balance between sharing with my family and friends while protecting my own boundaries, juggling my treatment with work and family responsibilities, and managing the emotional weight of facing my own mortality and grieving the loss of the health I had taken for granted. Even a year later, I continue to process the impact—physically and emotionally. I understand how complex and overwhelming this journey can feel, and I am here to help or listen.

Hi, I’m a highly sensitive wife, daughter, friend, and person. Therefore, I know what it’s like to be highly sensitive in the context of relationships. My triggers require me to spend a good chunk of private time with myself to encourage myself with positive self-talk, journaling reflection, and poetry. I have been on a healing journey from trauma for years and am on an active codependency recovery journey currently. I have lived experience with Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, Psychosis, and Bipolar Disorder. My mental health challenges have given me patience and empathy to care for those who are healing for the long haul. I have a heart to care for those who don’t feel like they have it all together and a desire to embrace others in their emotional state. I also have a heart for those who are resilient but are tired of being resilient on their own and simply just want to receive emotional and relational support. Come as you are to receive support. Your sensitivity is welcome here. This is your time to be accepted right here right now.

I’ve lived with a rare form of vasculitis for the past six years, and it’s impacted nearly every part of my life—my body, my career, my role as a parent, and even my sense of identity. The hardest part hasn’t just been the symptoms or treatments—it’s the loneliness. For a long time, it felt like no one could truly understand what I was going through. I had to pause and reimagine what “normal” looked like for me. I went from trying to push through everything to learning how to slow down and take care of myself, not just physically but emotionally. Along the way, I’ve become more grounded and more grateful. I’ve shared my journey with friends and family who are just beginning their own diagnoses, and it's reminded me how powerful connection can be. I’m a better partner and father because of what I’ve lived through. I’m still managing my condition every day—but I’m also thriving, and I’d love to help someone else feel a little less alone on their path.