“I know what it feels like to be the one holding everything together — while quietly coming apart inside.”

I grew up the middle child of working-class parents who believed in hard work and expected perseverance. There was love in our home — and also the unspoken message that you push through, you don't ask for too much, and you figure it out on your own.

I became good at that. Maybe too good.

I was the first in my family to graduate from college, then earn advanced degrees. I built a career I was proud of — in admissions, in education, in counseling. I showed up for students, families, and colleagues through some of the hardest moments of their lives. And I did it well.

What I didn't talk about was everything I was carrying alone.

After becoming a mother, I experienced postpartum depression and anxiety. I didn't have the language for it then, and I certainly didn't have the support. I was supposed to be capable. I was supposed to be fine. So I kept moving — carrying more than anyone around me knew.

Later came depression again, and the slow erosion of a toxic workplace that tested my confidence and challenged everything I believed about myself. I know what it's like to sit with someone else's pain while quietly managing your own. To keep showing up when you're running on empty. To wonder whether the life you've built still fits who you're becoming.

My path forward wasn't linear. It required slowing down — something that didn't come naturally — and allowing myself the same grace and support I had always offered others. Through honest reflection, real conversations, and eventually genuine clarity about what I wanted, I found my way back to myself. And forward into something new.

That journey — not just the 30 years of professional experience, but the personal road through struggle, guilt, healing, and growth — is what I bring to this work. When a client tells me they're holding it together on the outside while falling apart inside, I don't just understand it theoretically. I've lived it.

And I know that the guilt we carry — about the boundaries we didn't set, the version of ourselves we lost somewhere along the way — doesn't have to be the final word. It can be the beginning of something clearer.

Today I am grounded by the people and the world around me. I'm married, and my roles as a parent and grandparent remind me daily of what matters most — and how much healing is possible across a lifetime. I find restoration outdoors, on horseback, and with my dogs, who have a way of teaching patience, trust, and presence that no classroom ever could.

Those same qualities — patience, trust, and genuine presence — are what I bring to every coaching relationship.

How that shapes the way I work

Most of the people I work with are deeply skilled at supporting others. What they struggle with is turning that same care toward themselves. That's not a character flaw. It's the cost of doing this work for too long without anyone doing it for you.

I don't rush people toward answers. I ask honest questions, I stay curious about what's underneath the surface, and I'll gently call out the stories that are keeping you stuck — because that's what someone did for me, and it changed everything.

This is not a program with a predetermined outcome. It's a partnership shaped around you — where you are right now, what you're carrying, and where you want to go.

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If any part of my story sounds familiar — you're in the right place.

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