In our first session together, here's what you can expect

Your first session is a gentle beginning. It is a moment to arrive, settle, and be met exactly as you are. There is no expectation to have the “right” words, to tell your whole story, or to revisit anything before you’re ready. We start by slowing things down—helping your body and nervous system feel a bit more at ease. This space is for you to exhale, to feel seen, and to begin orienting back to yourself. Step one is simply connection and safety. We focus on getting to know you as a person, not as a problem to be solved. I’ll invite you to share what feels most present or heavy right now, and we’ll move at a pace that feels manageable. You are always in control of what you share and what you don’t. My role is to listen carefully, attune to you, and support a sense of safety and choice from the very beginning. Next, we clarify what you’re needing right now. Together, we’ll explore what’s been weighing on you, what feels tender or activated, and what you’re hoping for—whether that’s relief, steadiness, connection, or rest. There is no pressure to go deep before you feel ready. Depth comes naturally when safety is in place. You’ll also have space to ask questions. We can talk about therapy, Brainspotting, and my approach so you can get a felt sense of what working together is like. Many clients share that this is the first time in a long while they feel understood and not rushed—a moment where breathing feels easier. By the end of the session, we’ll have a shared understanding of where you are, what matters most right now, and a compassionate next step forward—one that supports healing at your pace and honors your resilience.

The biggest strengths that I bring into our sessions

I could list certifications, specialized trainings, and the professional experiences that shaped my work—but what matters most to me are the moments that happen slowly and often quietly, when people living with complex PTSD begin to feel like themselves again. It’s the moment someone who has lived with numbness for years notices a flicker of joy—and isn’t overwhelmed by it. When a parent realizes they stayed present through laughter with their child instead of bracing for something to go wrong. When a client recognizes that their body no longer feels locked in survival, and that trust, connection, and rest are becoming possible in ways they once thought were out of reach. Those moments stay with me because I know how much courage they require. Healing from complex trauma is not dramatic or linear. It is built from small, tender shifts—the ability to feel without shutting down, to breathe a little more fully, to notice safety where there once was none. These changes may seem subtle from the outside, but they mark the beginning of an entirely new way of living. What I witness, again and again, is the deep bravery it takes to rebuild safety inside your own body after it has been shaped by threat, neglect, or violation. To reclaim parts of yourself that learned to disappear, stay quiet, or stay on guard. To gently take back a life that trauma tried to take away. Every time a client tells me that something feels different—even in the smallest way—I am reminded why I do this work. Each moment of presence, each spark of connection, each return of self matters. Those moments belong to you. And they are the truest measure of healing I know.

The clients I'm best positioned to serve

I am best positioned to serve people who have carried heavy emotional burdens for far too long—those shaped by childhood trauma, family abuse, narcissistic relationships, and betrayal. These are often the individuals who learned early how to stay strong, responsible, or self-reliant while quietly holding pain, loneliness, or self-doubt beneath the surface. If this has been your way of surviving, there is nothing wrong with you. It makes sense. Many of the people I work with are thoughtful, insightful, and deeply capable. They have spent years trying to understand themselves—reading, reflecting, helping others, and doing everything they could to heal. They are often the ones others depend on. On the outside, they appear steady or accomplished; on the inside, they may feel unseen, disconnected, or emotionally exhausted. What they are seeking now is not quick fixes or surface-level coping, but change that reaches the root. Some grew up in environments marked by emotional neglect, unpredictability, or chronic stress—homes where feelings were minimized, needs were unsafe, or love was conditional. Others learned to survive chaos or harm by becoming numb, detached, or hyper-aware. You may not always know what you feel, or you may feel everything so intensely that it’s overwhelming. What unites these experiences is a deep longing: to feel safe in your own body, to trust yourself again, and to stop living in patterns shaped by survival. I am especially attuned to therapists, healthcare professionals, and first responders—people who carry both their own trauma and the weight of what they witness every day. Many live in a constant state of vigilance, find it hard to rest, or feel guilty for needing support at all. There can be a profound loneliness in always holding space for others while rarely having space held for you. Our work together is a place where you don’t have to perform strength or hold it all together. We move slowly and respectfully, guided by your nervous system and your truth. This is a space where your pain is met with care, your adaptations are understood, and your resilience is honored—not as something that cost you, but as something that can now soften. My practice is devoted to trauma recovery and emotional healing. I work with adults and do not provide services for children, couples, families, parenting, gender or sexual identity concerns, bipolar disorder, career or academic issues, or sexual intimacy or kink. These boundaries allow me to remain deeply grounded in the work I do best: supporting those living with the effects of complex trauma in a way that is steady, compassionate, and attuned. You don’t have to rush. You don’t have to explain everything. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.