Change is woven into the very fabric of being alive. Some changes arrive gently.

Others come crashing through—unexpected, soul-rattling, disorienting.

Even those we’ve chosen—new relationships, new careers, new geographies—can stir up grief, doubt, and uncertainty.

Sometimes it all feels like too much.

Sometimes, it’s the emptiness after a change that feels the hardest to hold.

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You are not alone. There is nothing wrong with you for feeling undone by transition.

These liminal spaces—between what was and what is not yet—are holy ground.

And they are not meant to be walked alone.

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You might find yourself here because something has shifted, or is about to.

• You’re entering a new phase of life—graduating, becoming a parent, beginning again after loss.

• You’ve moved cities, ended a relationship, or changed careers.

• You’re exploring polyamory or non-monogamy, and wanting to do so with care and integrity.

• You’re reorienting around identity—coming out, transitioning, deconstructing long-held beliefs.

• You’ve experienced illness, injury, or received a diagnosis that has rearranged your sense of self.

• You’re grieving.

• You’re letting go of a role, belief system, or storyline.

• You’re integrating a powerful experience—a psychedelic journey, a spiritual awakening, a major creative project.

• Or maybe, life just feels like it no longer fits—and you’re aching for alignment, even if you can’t yet name what that looks like.

 

Transition can bring about a deluge of feelings. That’s not pathology. That’s aliveness.

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There may be moments where it feels like your foundation is cracking—where you find yourself asking:

• How did I get here?

• Who am I now?

• What does this mean?

• What’s next?

These are not questions to rush through. They are doorways.

In therapy, we make space for these questions—not to solve them like riddles, but to befriend them.

To honor the intelligence of your confusion, and the rhythm of your unfolding.

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The Paradox of Change: Joy and Grief Often Arrive Holding Hands

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You might feel hopeful and heartbroken, liberated and lonely, relieved and enraged—all in the same breath. That doesn’t mean something’s wrong. That means you’re human. That means you’re in it.

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Maybe you’re in a new job that you wanted, but now you're overwhelmed and doubting yourself. Maybe you're navigating a breakup you chose, but grief is coming in waves. Maybe you're finally becoming a parent, or embracing a new identity, and alongside joy, there’s fear, nostalgia, and fatigue.

 

This is the terrain of transition. It is non-linear, contradictory, and full of feeling. It requires compassion, not control.

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My Role: Companion, Mirror, Witness

 

As a therapist, I offer a grounded, attuned, and warm space to meet the truth of what’s happening—in your body, your story, your nervous system, your dreams.

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Together, we can:

• Tend to what feels destabilized, unknown, or stuck

• Hold space for grief, confusion, anger, joy, relief—whatever is present

• Track emerging patterns and narratives with curiosity, not judgment

• Listen to your body’s cues and somatic wisdom as we navigate choices

• Build rituals of support, meaning-making, and integration

• Help you name what is being released, and what is becoming possible

 

You do not need to be in crisis to deserve support.

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Sometimes we minimize what we’re going through—“It’s not that big of a deal, I should just figure it out.” But all change, even the “positive” kind, carries stress. And we live in a culture that doesn’t always give space for the slow, sacred work of becoming.

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Therapy is not about having the right answers. It’s about making room for the right questions—and honoring the pace at which your clarity unfolds.

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My Approach

 

I draw from embodied Gestalt, somatic psychotherapy, attachment theory, Jungian dreamwork, trauma-informed care, contemplative practice, and indigenous wisdom traditions. My orientation is relational and integrative—deeply respectful of the intelligence of the body, the unconscious, and the sacred.

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I do this work not only as a therapist, but as a human who has weathered many initiations, both chosen and not. I know the terrain of rupture, renewal, and reinvention from the inside.

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This is not a top-down, “fix it” space. This is a collaborative, compassionate space to reclaim wholeness, even in the midst of unraveling. There is no right pace. No emotion that is “too much.” We follow the truth of what is.

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A Note on Timing

 

There’s no “right” moment to reach out for support. But if you’re here, reading this, something is likely stirring. And that deserves tending. If you’re unsure whether therapy is right for you now, I invite you to schedule a free consultation. We can talk about what you’re navigating and whether this work feels like a good fit for your current season.

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Let’s walk together for a while.

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You don’t have to do this alone.
This moment—this threshold—holds wisdom, even if it feels chaotic.
Therapy can be the place where you remember who you are, learn how to hold all that’s here, and move toward what’s next with clarity, gentleness, and courage.

Reach out when you’re ready. I’ll be here.