I know what it feels like to be in limbo where life feels flimsy, unstable, and nothing seems to stick. I’ve been there, caught between who I was and who I was becoming, unsure if I’d ever feel grounded again. What I discovered is that this in-between space holds power: it’s where the old identities dissolve so the authentic self can emerge. My own journey of rediscovery taught me how to strip away roles, expectations, and masks until I could see myself clearly again. Now, I help others navigate this messy, uncertain middle ground, which is finding clarity, strength, and a sense of self that they can finally trust.

I thought resilience meant pushing through—gritting my teeth, swallowing feelings, and forcing myself to ‘just deal with it.’ But that left me drained and butting against as brick wall. You see, strength isn’t just enduring struggles; it’s about adapting, processing, and allowing yourself space to heal. Self-compassion was the hardest piece. I didn’t realize how much I held myself to unrealistic standards, expecting perfection where I should’ve offered myself grace. Over time, I started embracing the idea that strength isn’t about ignoring pain—it’s about acknowledging it and choosing how to move forward with care. Through my work in peer support, I’ve helped others cultivate resilience in a way that feels sustainable—balancing the need for self-protection with the power of self-kindness. If you’ve ever felt like you’re being too hard on yourself or struggling to recover from challenges, I get it. Let’s explore ways to navigate life with strength and softness.

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.

I tell everyone, I have lived a million lives in this one life. Although in my opinion, that is the best way to be. Try everything and see what sticks. Why limit yourself? It can be scary starting over and reinventing yourself in a new career, city, friend group, etc., although staying stuck and unhappy is even scarier.

Growing up around addiction, poverty, and instability, I learned early on to cope by escaping my emotions however I could. As a teen and young adult, I turned to drugs and alcohol to numb myself, never thinking about the consequences. Even after surviving a house raid, an arrest, and a stay in a mental hospital, it took me years to confront the hold substances had on my life. Meanwhile, I found myself trapped in abusive relationships that mirrored the dysfunction I had grown up with. Through therapy, support groups, and a lot of inner child work, I slowly started to build a life based on self-respect rather than survival. I am now over two years sober from alcohol and several years free from drug use, continuing my healing journey with a focus on compassion and patience. I know how overwhelming it can be to untangle addiction from relationship trauma, and I want to be a steady, understanding presence for anyone facing that path today.

Life has taken me through many chapters: raising three young men (two of whom are neurodivergent), navigating a 20-year career as a special education teacher, surviving toxic, narcissistic relationships, and rebuilding after divorce. Along the way, I learned the importance of setting boundaries, choosing self-love, and letting go of habits that no longer served me—including a complicated relationship with alcohol. The journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s made me passionate about helping others find their voice, their peace, and their power again. Today, I live a nomadic life focused on healing, authenticity, and supporting others through their toughest seasons. I'm here to meet you exactly where you are—and to remind you that your healing is possible.

Grief found me in more than one way. Becoming a mother - and specifically a single mother - brought a total identity shift I didn’t anticipate. The pace and priorities of my life changed so drastically that I felt like I had lost the “me” that existed before motherhood. That loss alone was disorienting. And then, just as I was learning how to adjust, my father died by suicide. That moment shattered the little stability I had left and brought me to a place where daily life felt almost unbearable - heavy, lonely, and stripped of joy. What helped me begin healing wasn’t just one thing - it was a series of small, brave choices. I took a short trip to be with close friends who didn’t ask anything of me, just sat beside me. I let myself cry. I sought therapy and joined an online support group for survivors of suicide loss. I reached out to other moms who understood the invisible weight I was carrying. I stopped pretending I was okay when I wasn’t - and began allowing myself the space and tools to grieve. In time, the grief shifted. It didn’t disappear, but it softened. I started practicing rituals to release what I was holding, to come back to myself. I began to notice a lightness I hadn’t felt in years. It was a deeper freedom and curiosity about who I was becoming. I now create boundaries that protect my peace and moments of stillness that help me listen to my own body and spirit. Grief changed me, but it also offered me a strange kind of clarity - a reminder that I am not alone, that healing is possible, and that being tender with ourselves is an act of strength.

There was a time in my life when everything felt paused. I was between jobs, unsure of my next step, watching others move forward while I sat still. People would say, “Something will come along,” but the waiting felt like slow erosion. My self-worth was tied to progress, and without it, I felt small. I learned how to sit with the discomfort, how to extract meaning from stillness, and how to build a life that didn’t depend on a clear next chapter. I began to ask myself deeper questions about purpose, identity, and what truly mattered.

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've restarted more than I can count: education, career, marriage and divorce, new dreams and new places. I've gone through tough periods of not knowing where to turn, poverty, disability, grief and parenting. Somehow I have managed to build a life that looks like mine. Not perfect. It's got a little edge. But...it's mine. This came from the lessons I learned trying to earn my worth through productivity, perfection and trying to be the person everyone else needed. The burnout came and I unraveled, which is what I needed. I know what it's like to feel behind, broken and wondering if you'll ever want anything again. Let me meet you there and hold a light next to you. You got this.

For years, I struggled with clothes. I never fit the mold, always feeling like I had to hide my body, my neurodivergent sensory quirks, my real self. Growing up in rural Appalachia didn't help either. The game changed when I started using fashion as a tool for self-discovery and self-compassion, not just “looking good” for someone else. If you’re curious how clothes can help you embrace your neurodivergent identity, practice more kindness with yourself, or just figure out what feels good for you (not the algorithm), let’s talk. I think style is a core part of neurodivergent identity and can be a powerful tool to feel more yourself and at home in your own skin. That can look like maximalism or wearing the same thing every day. Bring your closet wins, fails, weird questions, and hopes for self-acceptance.

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 come from a family where violence was almost always the way disagreements were settled. My step father was full of rage and the alcohol just added fuel to the fire. Watching him hurt my mom over and over was terrifying. But watching her as she grew the strength to leave him for good, that was inspiring. Because of this childhood, I knew that leaving was an option. The first time a significant other put his hand on me, I was 17 years old. I had convinced myself that he would change, he was sorry etc. Unfortunately, it only got worse. After two years of abuse, I finally left him and never looked back. That was the first of many violent partners. But that was also the last time I let someone hurt me more than once. The most recent time almost cost me my life. And since healing from the physical and mental wounds of that occurrence, I have made it my goal to always be a safe spot for anyone going through something similar. I will always advocate for victims of dv because their lives depend on it.

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.

Between 1998 and 2009 12 members of my family died, including my parents and all my grandparents. I have developed a profound relationship with grief and loss, and I am often someone others turn to when they need help processing a loss. I navigated all of these deaths in my 20s because I had to, and along the way I learned a lot about grace, grief, and everything else that goes into making a life without the people you expected to be in it. I have made a life out of grief and the understanding that facing our grief can help us feel both connected and free. It can be hard to find people who want to talk about grief with you, but if you are looking for someone to do just that, I'd be honored to connect with you.

I think it's more common that we think to undergo a narrative reconstruction of our identities, especially after or during a great life change or loss. 2020 was the beginning for me of realizing I'd spent my life living into the expectations other people had for me, and those expectations ended up being out of alignment with who I want to be and how I seek to exist. Rewriting those narratives was challenging and asked a lot of me and I would have loved to have someone to talk it through with as I was getting started. I had to challenge a lot of the stories I'd come to believe about myself and discover if I'd actually written them or if they'd been told by someone else for me to internalize. My process of narrative reconstruction wasn't easy, but it's been the best practice I've ever picked up. Every day I try and move my life more into alignment with who i aspire to be and how I want to exist. There has been loss in the rewriting, but what I've gained has been worth it.

For a long time, I didn’t even realize I was in an abusive relationship. There were no visible bruises — just the slow, soul-crushing erosion of who I was. The gaslighting, control, manipulation, silent treatment, and constant walking on eggshells made me question my reality and my worth. Narcissistic abuse is a form of domestic violence. And it’s one of the hardest forms to explain — because you’re often left with wounds no one can see and the most difficult to heal from. Leaving that relationship was terrifying. I was emotionally shattered, financially unstable, and isolated from many people I once trusted. I also faced the devastating experience of parental alienation — where the abuse didn’t stop after the relationship ended but continued through the manipulation of my child. But I am here today, living proof that you can survive this — and thrive. I’ve rebuilt my self-worth, found deep healing through recovery, and have become a voice for those who feel silenced. It hasn’t been easy, but it has been worth it. If you’re navigating this kind of trauma, you don’t have to do it alone.

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.

I graduated from college in May 2020, right into the pandemic-era job market. I felt lucky to land a job just a few months later, but it quickly revealed itself to be a toxic environment. I was laid off that October, and a long stretch of underemployment and instability began. I didn’t find consistent full-time work again until September 2021. That second job felt like a lifeline, but after about a year and a half, I was laid off again—only to be re-hired a week later when they realized they needed me back. In the brief window of that layoff, I had already started interviewing for a new role. I kept going with the process and, after multiple rounds, landed a better job: one that came with a raise and opportunities to grow. I was then able to leave the company that had laid off and re-hired me. Since 2020, I’ve experienced firsthand how chaotic and unpredictable the job market can be. I’ve learned what it takes to stay afloat through layoffs, rejections, and burnout, and have developed strategies for applications, interviews, and finding the confidence to keep going. If you’re feeling defeated by job searching, know that you’re not alone. I’m here to share practical advice and remind you that your worth is not defined by your employment status.