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.

I know what it’s like to second-guess everything and feel like an imposter in rooms where everyone else seems more confident, more capable, more 'put together.' I’ve battled those thoughts in friendships, work, creative projects, and more. No matter how much I accomplished, that little voice telling me I wasn’t enough kept creeping in. Over time, I’ve learned that imposter syndrome isn’t a sign that you aren’t capable—it’s often a reflection of deep self-awareness, high standards, and past experiences that made you doubt your worth. Working through it isn’t about silencing those thoughts completely; it’s about recognizing them, questioning them, and learning how to move forward anyway. Through peer support, I’ve helped others navigate these feelings—validating their fears while uncovering strategies to build confidence in who they are. You don’t have to prove your worth to anyone. You just have to see it for yourself.

When I graduated from college, I had big dreams but didn’t have a clear idea of how to turn them into a career. I spent years in various jobs, unsure of where I truly belonged, but I kept going because I thought “this was what I was supposed to do.” It wasn’t until I embraced my passions, trusted my instincts, and leaned into my faith that I realized my career wasn’t just a job—it was a calling. I spent time in the TV industry, as a writer, and even as a tennis pro, but I never felt fully fulfilled until I began teaching, coaching, and sharing my story. I know what it feels like to wonder if the dreams you have are even possible, or if you’re just wasting time in the wrong role. But I also know that when you get clear on your purpose and take intentional steps, doors open in ways you didn’t expect. Whether you're about to graduate and need direction, considering a career change, or simply wanting a fresh start in a new season of life, I’d love to help you get clear on your path and discover a future that feels exciting and aligned with your true self.

I've battled knowing who i am for a long time, and after years of continuing to work on myself i found skills that have helped me to be more readily willing to share and open up, and to know and believe in my self worth and to overcome negative self talk and feelings of unworthiness, and feeling unloved, and ashamed. i found the strength to see myself for who i am through my own eyes instead of the eyes of others.

For years, I tied my value to how others saw me, especially in familial and romantic relationships. I experienced emotional abuse that slowly chipped away at my self-esteem. I became overly accommodating, confused love with approval, and didn’t know how to speak up for myself. I reached a point where I hardly recognized myself. My healing began when I stopped looking outside myself for validation and started listening inward. Through prayer, therapy, journaling, and lots of reflection, I learned how to love the woman I was becoming. I became certified in life and relationship coaching because I wanted to give others what I wish I had—someone to remind them of their worth when they can’t see it. I also created a support group for women where we talked honestly about self-image, boundaries, and joy. I realized that so many of us are silently struggling with how we see ourselves. Now, I live with clarity, peace, and a deep love for who I am, and I want to help others experience the same.

Growing up in a home with alcoholic parents left me confused, angry, and full of self-doubt. I didn’t understand why I struggled so much with low self-esteem and loneliness until I started therapy. That’s when everything began to make sense. I realized I had internalized a lot of the dysfunction and had to re-learn how to treat myself with compassion. Through years of therapy and working the recovery model, I learned how to re-parent myself and begin healing the trauma I carried from childhood. It wasn’t easy, but it allowed me to make better choices—not just for myself, but for my daughters too. I became the kind of parent I always needed, someone who could create a peaceful home and break the cycle of emotional and physical abuse. Now, as a certified peer supporter, I help others who were also raised in chaotic environments understand their patterns, set boundaries, and begin to heal. If you’ve ever felt alone or ashamed of where you come from, I’m here to walk through it with you.

For a long time, I was told how to feel, how to dress, how any original idea I had was wrong. I got programmed into believing that I didn’t know what was best for me and that I sounded ignorant whenever I tried to voice my opinion. When I finally broke free of the toxicity of that relationship, I found it difficult to express myself to doctors and therapists, even friends and family, because I was so full of self doubt. I couldn’t even order food at a restaurant because it filled me with crippling anxiety. Finding my own voice has been challenging and not without setbacks. My first step in advocating for myself was learning that most people are forgiving and supportive when they are given the opportunity to be. This has helped me to gain the confidence I needed to be able to ask for help, let the person know what kind of help I do need and, most importantly, what I’d like to order from the menu:)

I want to create a space where you feel truly heard and supported, especially when it comes to current stressors. My own path taught me resilience and self-preservation are vital. I've navigated chaos, always believing "I have more to offer." In 2023, 18 years after my peers, I earned my adult diploma, a crucial step toward becoming a Certified Peer Recovery and Support Specialist and Community Health Worker 2. I wanted to use my experiences to help others walking similar paths.. Now, I'm taking another leap pursuing a social work degree, focusing on trauma therapy, starting this fall. Overcoming self-doubt and feelings of doom has been my biggest hurdle, so I understand the power of talking things through. Let's connect and discuss how we can navigate any challenges ahead, whether it's the upcoming school year or anything else weighing on your mind.. I'm here to listen without judgment and help you not just survive, but thrive.

Even after years healing and doing the work, I found myself constantly questioning: Do I belong here? Who am I to help others? What if they find out I’m not really “together”? That inner critic — fueled by years of trauma, addiction, and being silenced — whispered that I wasn’t enough, no matter how far I’d come. I could be speaking on a stage, supporting others, or stepping into something beautiful, and still feel like I was faking it. But I learned that imposter syndrome often shows up when we’re stepping into something real and meaningful. When we’re breaking generational cycles. When we’re becoming someone our past never prepared us for. And that’s not a sign we’re failing — it’s a sign we’re growing. Today, I still get nervous. But I remind myself: I’ve earned my seat at the table. My lived experience is powerful. And I am allowed to be both healing and helping at the same time. If you’ve been struggling to believe you’re “qualified” — in life, recovery, parenting, leadership, or healing — let’s talk. You’re not alone, and you don’t have to shrink to be safe.

I was in a relationship with a narcissist, the father of my children. What started as love turned into control, manipulation, and constant betrayal. He cheated on me, lied to me, and blamed everything on me. Even after I tried to walk away, he kept a grip on my life through stalking and emotional games. I truly thought I was going to lose my mind. Narcissistic abuse isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet gaslighting, constant self-doubt, and slowly losing your sense of reality. It took me years to finally escape. But I did. I pulled myself out, piece by piece. And now, I know my worth. I’m no longer stuck in survival mode. I’m living, free and stronger than I’ve ever been.

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.

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.

When I went to university straight out of high school, I really crashed and burned. After dipping my toes in academia through community college on and off, I finally returned to university to finish my bachelor's degree ten years later. I often felt really out of place and uncomfortable as an older adult with many more obligations and life experiences than the other students around me. Thankfully, by connecting with other non-traditional students and leaning on my support network, I was able to refocus on what was really important: finishing my degree program. I understand the overwhelm and self-doubt that comes with starting on this path. I understand how difficult and unsettling it can be navigating systems that are generally meant for younger students, and how hard it is to balance real-world obligations with academics. I am here to listen and offer whatever support you need on this journey.

After leaving a high-demand religion, experiencing infidelity and divorce, relocation, isolation, anxiety, and depression, I decided to make some changes to the way I lived my life. I began to live with intention and a deep sense of personal power. I understood my part in codependent relationships through the lens of my childhood trauma, and I started doing things differently. If you have ever felt 'stuck' or felt like something was 'off', and you want to live differently, I understand, and I'm here to support you in the changes you want to make. Let's work together to make new patterns to help you build a life that you love, where you experience joy and live from your authentic self, every day.

My mother used me as emotional life support while feeding me to predators. My father's rage taught me I was alone in the universe. for a while I felt like I was born just to be their therapist, connected by a metaphorical reverse umbilical cord that left me drained, debilitated, and vulnerable. Constantly pouring into everyone else the mothering that I never experienced firsthand, and it destroyed my mental and physical health. When I realized no one was coming to save me, I began the sacred work of self-nurture and self-advocacy. I've learned to offer my inner child what I yearned for: wise guidance, protection, validation, kindness, celebration of my existence, acknowledgment and meeting of my needs from body, mind, to spirit. I've become the safe harbor I desperately sought, the fierce protector and tender nurturer of all my wounded parts and an advocate for others in vulnerable positions. Feeling this inner security and self-trust, I feel more resilient and can rely on myself.

I’ve had seasons where my confidence felt unshakable—and others where it felt like it disappeared overnight. I’ve questioned my worth in rooms I had every right to be in. I’ve second-guessed myself after rejection, after mistakes, after silence that left me wondering if I was enough. What I’ve learned is this: confidence isn’t about being perfect or fearless. It’s about trusting yourself anyway. It’s about showing up, even when your voice shakes. It’s built through small, brave choices—and yes, sometimes it's borrowed from someone who sees your light when you forget how to find it. I’ve had people reflect back to me a version of myself I couldn’t yet believe in. That changed everything. Now, I love holding up the mirror for others, helping them remember what makes them powerful, resilient, and worthy—especially when life, trauma, or doubt has clouded that truth. If you’re struggling to believe in yourself right now, let’s talk. Not with toxic positivity or surface-level hype—but with real, honest encouragement that’s rooted in who you already are.

I found out I was adopted at age 10 when a classmate said I didn't look like my parents. My birth certificate had their names, but I found a photo of my (not pregnant) mom in Asia the day I was born. It made sense since I never felt like I fit in with them (or in the wider world). Realizing even the extended family's lies and omissions hurt—keeping up that collectivistic culture. I kept my secret from almost everyone until college. I found my birth mom on AIM and my birth dad a year later through an article online. Unfortunately, I didn't quite fit there either. I'm a bit like a Third Culture Kid, always the odd one out—human first, but everyone tries to fit me into their boxes. Mom was 19 when her mother pressured her to give me up for adoption—a combination of Catholic shame and varying skin tones. I was sad to hear that my mom and her father both wanted to keep me, but I was given up anyway. I was adopted. Trust is difficult, healing is ongoing, and identity is resilient.

When I adopted five siblings from foster care, I went from being a teacher to being a mom of kids who had already lived entire lifetimes before they came home. I knew love would be central, but I quickly realized that love alone didn’t erase trauma—or my own insecurities. I often questioned my role. I wasn’t their first mom, and I wasn’t sure if I ever could be. Walking through Walmart and having strangers ask, “Where are their real parents?” only deepened that ache. I’m a white woman raising Black children, and the way the world sees us doesn’t always match the way we feel like a family. In those early days, I didn’t have a roadmap. I struggled with depression and anxiety, and with the weight of parenting kids from hard places while carrying questions I didn’t know how to answer. But I sought support, learned the power of trauma-informed care, and became a TBRI Practitioner. Today, I work in advocacy and get to speak, train, and walk with others navigating this space.