For much of my life, I faced challenges that tested my emotional resilience and sense of self. Through my own healing journey, I learned the value of slowing down, reflecting, and developing healthy coping tools. Over time, I became the friend and support system others could turn to during their hardest moments. My experiences have taught me the importance of listening with compassion, respecting each person’s unique story, and creating a safe space where people feel truly seen. Now, I want to share that same steady presence to help others navigate change, rebuild confidence, and discover their own inner strength.

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.

For the ones carrying the unspoken weight of being “the first” or “the only” on their team. When you’re the one who stands out because of your identity, suddenly everything you do gets magnified. Your cultural expressions get misread as negative, you’re held to tighter deadlines, or more work lands on your plate than on your peers’. And when you try to speak up, leadership dismisses your concerns as “too sensitive.” Do you ever feel like you’re constantly proving yourself while being treated differently anyway? That no matter how much you give, it’s never seen the same way as others on your team? If you’re exhausted from navigating a workplace that feels more toxic than inclusive, let’s talk. I know how it feels to be labeled instead of listened to. Here, you don’t have to shrink, code-switch, or over-explain—you get to be fully seen and heard.

I moved to the United States from Serbia with my ex-husband, who was a scientist pursuing his education. We started our family here, but over time, it became clear that he wasn’t as involved as I was. Our communication issues began to grow, and as the years passed, I started to recognize signs of narcissism in him. The verbal and emotional abuse took a toll on my self-esteem, and things got worse when he had an affair. The affair was incredibly painful, especially since we lived in a small town where everyone knew. The stress was overwhelming, and although we tried to reconcile, a family psychologist advised me to leave him. Two years later, I met my current husband, a psychologist, who helped me realize that I was a survivor of a narcissistic relationship. Now, I’m passionate about helping others who are navigating similar struggles, offering a compassionate ear and the support that I wish I had during those difficult times.

As a first-generation college student and first-generation corporate worker, I had to figure everything out on my own, from applying to schools and building a resume to opening a 401(k), choosing an HSA, and learning how to navigate the world of corporate benefits and workplace etiquette. Watching my parents hustle through the 2008 recession taught me early on that I deeply value stability—and for me, that has come from a 9-to-5 job. That stability has allowed me to take control of my finances and start building the kind of security I’ve envisioned for years. Now, at 26, I’m often the youngest person and only woman in the room, especially in my male-dominated corner of tech. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s pushed me to learn how to advocate for myself, make the most of every opportunity, and be proud of how far I’ve come. I’ve become the friend who loves to talk openly about jobs and money, and I’d love to help others just starting their own path (especially those going to college and trying to break into the 9-to-5 world with no roadmap!)

In 1991, I moved to the United States at age five from Russia as a Jewish refugee. I was part of a large wave of Russian Jewish refugees from the Soviet Union, and was one of the only Russians in my class at first. The area, which was predominantly Italian American, suddenly had a Soviet contingent, and some of the locals didn't like it. I was bullied for being Russian. Later in life, I joined the Peace Corps, and they decided to send me to Ukraine. Being a Russian Jew in Ukraine brought its own challenges, and in 2022, when the war with Russia started, I felt a strong need to go and volunteer. But being Russian in Ukraine was even more uncomfortable, and I had to explain myself constantly. I was also questioned by the authorities and even detained. I've been called a Russian spy my entire life. There were times when I wished I had been just born American, and at times I lied about my heritage, but I have since learned that having an outsider's perspective can be powerful.

Over a span of 30 years, I encountered cultural differences with 3 different partners. Each partnership faced both internal and external cultural bias, stigmas, and discrimination based on societal stereotypes. I went through cognitive therapy with my husband to learn how to communicate effectively with someone who not only learned English as a second language, but who was holding long-engrained beliefs about our respective countries and societies. We also worked on how to present a united front to outside disruptors, often family and friends bringing in their own bias that stirred the pot of misunderstandings and underlying the need to learn straight-forward communication. Even if your partner is unsure how to, or unwilling to, communicate their own feelings, you can still enhance your own communication style in an open, compassionate manner that exudes respect and honesty to yourself and to them.

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.

Breaking up with someone in college hits differently. You’re juggling school, figuring out who you are, and trying to hold it all together while your heart feels like it’s falling apart. I’ve been through that (more than once) and I remember feeling like I had no one to really talk to. I didn’t want to burden my friends, and sometimes I even questioned whether what I was feeling was “that big of a deal.” But it was. That pain pushed me toward something more meaningful. I started volunteering for a crisis text line, and over time I’ve supported hundreds of people. Many of them were students just like me, trying to make sense of love, heartbreak, and everything in between. I listened as they cried over situations that felt impossible. I helped them find words for their feelings, breathe through the anxiety, and take small steps toward feeling whole again. Now, as I study behavioral health and counseling, I’m more certain than ever that breakups aren’t just about relationships ending, they’re about rediscovering who you are and what you deserve. I’m here to talk with anyone feeling stuck, confused, or heartbroken, because I know how healing it can be to have someone just listen and get it.

I lost my father at a young age, and growing up in a single-parent household as the youngest of four siblings, I had to step up in ways I didn’t expect. I became the listener in the family, learning the importance of being there for others when they were struggling. My own grief journey was difficult, and it took me a while to understand how to process my emotions. Over time, though, I realized that my struggles could become a source of strength for others. As I volunteered with the Crisis Text Line, I supported people who were grieving or in emotional turmoil, including someone whose father was on life support. She was in deep denial and didn’t know how to navigate the situation. I helped her process her emotions and guided her through the steps of accepting the reality of her father’s condition. Through experiences like these, I’ve learned how vital it is to hold space for people, listen to their pain, and offer hope. Grief is a difficult journey, and if you’re feeling lost in it, I’m here to help you find your way through.