Does it feel like joy has gone missing, and you’re not sure where—or if—it will return?

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Maybe life feels flat, colorless, or unbearably heavy. You might be moving through your days with a kind of invisible weight—where even getting out of bed, answering a text, or taking a shower can feel like climbing a mountain.

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Perhaps the world feels far away, as if you’re watching from behind glass. Or maybe it’s you who feels far away—from yourself, from others, from any sense of meaning.

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Depression is not just sadness. It’s not just “having a bad day.” It can feel like a profound spiritual and emotional depletion—a collapse of vitality, connection, and direction.

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Naming the Fog

 

Maybe you’ve lost interest in things you once loved.
Maybe your body feels slow, numb, or too full of ache to move.
Maybe you feel like you’re disappearing inside your life.

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Sometimes, depression shows up in ways that aren’t easily named:

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• Fatigue that doesn't lift, no matter how much you rest

• The sensation that nothing matters—or that you don’t

• Thoughts that spiral toward hopelessness or self-blame

• Feeling like a burden, or like you're too much and not enough, all at once

• Longing for rest so deep you imagine what it would be like to not exist

 

It can be subtle or all-consuming. And perhaps hardest of all, it can make you feel isolated even from those who care about you—because “I’m tired” doesn’t begin to touch the depth of what you’re holding.

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You’re Not Broken—You’re Responding

 

Depression is often a sign of overwhelm, loss, or long-unmet needs—not a defect in your character.

It may arise in response to grief, trauma, burnout, disconnection, chronic illness, transition, or simply the weight of enduring too much for too long with too little support.

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And while depression can distort our perception—leading us to believe we’re unlovable, broken, or beyond help—none of that is true.

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Your feelings make sense.
Your suffering is real.
And help is possible.

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The Loneliness Inside the Struggle

 

One of the cruelest paradoxes of depression is how it isolates us just when we need connection most.

Maybe you’ve been told to “just snap out of it,” “try harder,” “stay positive,” or “get some sun.”

Well-meaning people often don’t know what to say—and their impatience or misunderstanding can make the ache feel even worse.

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But here’s the truth: healing doesn’t come through willpower.

It comes through care.

It comes through compassionate witnessing, through nervous system regulation, through restoring meaning and relational safety in the places where despair took hold.

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Depression deserves tenderness, not pressure.
It deserves understanding, not shame.
And you deserve a space where your pain is held, not minimized.

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What Depression Therapy Looks Like

 

Therapy for depression doesn’t mean being “talked out of it.”

It means being gently guided back into relationship—with your breath, your body, your grief, your longing, and your resilience.

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In our work together, I offer an individualized approach rooted in somatics, relational Gestalt, mindfulness, Jungian depth psychology, neuroscience, and trauma-informed care. Together we listen for the wisdom underneath the collapse.

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Some days that might look like naming the beliefs that keep you feeling stuck or small. Other days, it may be exploring the numbness with curiosity.

We might work with the body—breath, movement, or sensation—or begin with imagery, metaphor, or dreams.
We may track your nervous system patterns, tend to old wounds with reverence, or slowly reawaken your sense of agency.

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Most importantly, we go at your pace.
I will never rush you, fix you, or tell you to cheer up.
I will meet you where you are—with my presence, attunement, and faith in your capacity to feel more alive.

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You Don’t Have to Do This Alone

 

Reaching out for help can feel impossible when you’re depressed.
Even reading this may have taken more energy than you had.

If that’s true, I want to say: I see you.

That effort matters.

You matter.

There is no shame in needing support.
We were never meant to heal in isolation.

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Therapy isn’t a magic cure—but it can be a doorway.

A turning point.

A space where what feels unbearable can begin to be held with care.

Healing doesn’t always come in grand gestures. Sometimes it begins with the smallest yes.

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About My Approach

 

I bring to this work not only extensive training, but also the lived experience of walking through the terrain of depression myself.
I know what it is to feel hollow, to grieve the absence of vitality, to forget your own aliveness.

And I know my way back. And am humbled by the invitation to support you in finding your way.

My work is rooted in embodied presence, deep listening, and reverence for your unique path.
I draw from decades of experience in the fields of somatic psychology, contemplative practice, bodywork, trauma recovery, and soul work.
I am a clinician, but I am also a human who honors the intelligence of the body and the sacred unfolding of each person’s becoming.

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This is not a space for judgment or quick fixes.
This is a space to bring your whole self—the messy parts, the numb parts, the part that’s still hoping—and let them all be met.

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An Invitation

 

If you’re navigating depression and longing for a way through—if you’re ready to rediscover your capacity for joy, connection, creativity, and rest—I welcome you to reach out.

You don’t have to feel ready.

You don’t have to have it all together.
You just have to bring what’s true. I’ll meet you there.

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Let’s begin the slow, sacred work of returning to yourself.