I’ve lived the challenges of navigating social services myself, including fighting for my daughter’s well-being through the child welfare system. These experiences have given me a firsthand understanding of the stress, confusion, and heartache families can face, and the determination it takes to advocate effectively. I’ve worked on real cases, providing guidance, support, and practical strategies to help families navigate complex systems and access the resources they need. My approach is rooted in empathy, patience, and a non-judgmental perspective — I’m here to listen, empower, and walk alongside you through even the toughest situations.

I provide support for those struggling with toxic or emotionally abusive family dynamics. I understand what it’s like to feel trapped in unhealthy patterns, walking on eggshells, or being made to feel like the problem for simply setting boundaries. Through my own experiences of navigating family dysfunction and learning to protect my peace, I’ve gained deep empathy and insight into how painful and confusing these relationships can be. I offer a safe space to talk openly, sort through emotions, and find the strength to heal and move forward without guilt or shame.

My parents had me when they were in their 40s, so I became a primary caregiver and decision-maker much earlier than most of my peers. Since my parents' passing, my husband and I have started living with his mother, anticipating caregiver duties which are coming soon. Moving from child to a more, well, "parental" role is one of the most challenging changes in family dynamics anyone will face, and one of the least talked about. Whether they stay in their own home, move in with you (or you with them) or they transition to an adult care or nursing home, facing their aging, changing health, and needs can be beyond overwhelming. How do you talk to them about driving, about their budget, about end-of-life? How do you balance your own personal and professional responsibilities while taking on a more active role in your parents' care? And, for many of us, how do we negotiate difficult relationships with our parents now that they need so much of our attention and energy?

I have two adult children, both approaching retirement age, who still blame and resent me as a mother. For years, I felt sad and envious of my friends’ child relations. I thought if I just said it this way or didn't do that that we'd progress. While I understand they could feel betrayed using the perfect mother model, I no longer accept the perfect mother standard. I now understand that past mistakes don't define me today. I was being unrealistic in the present. And once I "got it" things improved, and I felt better. The first big step was to stop listening to abusive complaints and accusations. Today I use a soft voice to say enough now I’m hanging up. Then I do. Once I got clear on my boundaries, their behavior improved (and so did mine!). It's been a long journey with periodic missteps. With help I have more tools to work with. I'm not as angry. I have hope and even some satisfaction. If you are ready to get off that toxic treadmill, join me. Let's find your boundaries.

I’ve lived a full life—with all the ups, downs, sharp turns, and potholes that come with it. I'm a mother of two sons of retirement age: the younger, I'm total estranged from, and it's the same as losing a child; the elder, a practicing alcoholic, is tricky. As a former marriage and family therapist, a caregiver for my dad during his final years, and someone who has fought my own battles with addiction and recovery, I deeply understand being in hard places. My struggles were relationship acceptance and guilt and shame. I was an inadequate parent and it brought great pain to us all. But I finally sought help. I no longer accept the unrealistic perfect mother model. Once I understood my boundaries, our relationship improved. I stopped listening to abusive complaints. Now we can tell when things are "going south" and we can gracefully withdraw from conflict. Acceptance and boundaries are game changers. They can be for you, too. Let me support and help guide you in this process.

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.

Growing up mainly involved managing my parent's emotions instead of the other way around. Conversations felt unpredictable—sometimes too much, sometimes too little—and I found myself taking on roles I wasn’t meant to carry. Whether it was absorbing their stress, minimizing my feelings to keep the peace, or feeling unseen in moments when I needed support. It shaped the way I viewed myself and my relationships. I struggled to untangle what was me versus what was a survival response to the dynamics I grew up with. It took time, reflection, and effort to recognize that I didn’t have to carry the emotional weight of others. Learning to separate my identity from my upbringing gave me space to redefine self-worth on my terms and finally set emotional boundaries. If you’ve ever felt like you’ve had to shrink yourself, over-function, or fight to be understood, let’s explore how you can step into your own identity—without guilt or fear, and heal from the impact of emotionally immature parents.

I spent my younger life wondering why it felt I was missing a key piece of myself and unable to fit in with people around me. Turned out, in my case, this was partly due to a void in my life of not having a father. For some people that doesn't seem to matter, but for me, it was a key piece of how I interacted with others. As I began to discover myself through therapy, I learned I could easily feel perspectives of other people's circumstances. You know the phrase "Put yourself in my shoes?" Well, I feel that I literally can. In fact, my friends were often discussing their problems with me. They said I listened well and asked questions that helped them see their situation from new angles. My own life experiences are varied enough now to offer a wide span of perspectives. From growing up without a father to marrying someone who didn't speak English to restarting my career several times, I'm a well-rounded, emotionally intelligent, active listening, empathetic soul. Communication is key.

Growing up, I learned to hide my emotions because there was no safe place to express them. I became the girl who “never got upset” but inside, I did. I was just unheard. I refuse to pass that silence down to my daughters. Parenting from the healed place means creating space for their voices, modeling vulnerability, and breaking cycles of silence. It also means reparenting myself so I can show up fully for them. If you want better for your kids than how you were raised, let's talk about how we break the cycle together.

I grew up in the Dominican Republic and moved to the U.S. when I was five. My childhood was shaped by the reality of addiction, my cousin was using cocaine and I’d watch him sleep all day and stay up all night. He was kind, but deeply ashamed, and I remember how hard it was to see someone I loved struggle so much. My grandfather also struggled with alcoholism and eventually died from liver failure. Watching two people I cared about suffer like that taught me that addiction isn’t about being bad, it’s about being stuck in something painful. It hurts the person using, and it hurts the people who love them too. I barely drink now because of what I lived through, but I’ve never stopped believing there’s hope for people who use. I’ve shared my story with friends who were drinking heavily, and sometimes it helped them pause and think differently. I’ve been that listener for others who are hurting: someone who doesn’t judge, who gets it, and who knows what it’s like to love someone who can’t seem to stop. If you’re going through that now, I’d be honored to sit with you in it.

Healing from trauma often feels like swimming upstream, especially when the people around you don’t understand or acknowledge your pain. Family dynamics can be some of the hardest waters to navigate. The same people who hurt you are often the ones you feel obligated to stay connected to, or even love in ways that don’t honor your own healing. I’ve had to face this challenge myself—balancing the desire for connection with the need for self-protection. The truth is, healing from trauma doesn’t always mean cutting off family. Sometimes, it means learning how to show up for yourself in their presence. Setting boundaries that are both firm and loving. And learning to hold space for the reality that people may never change in the ways you want them to. In my own journey, I’ve had to face painful truths about my family’s role in my trauma. I’ve had to find the courage to protect myself while still navigating relationships that are deeply rooted in my history. And I’ve learned that healing isn’t just about what you leave behind—it’s also about how you choose to move forward, even with the difficult people and dynamics still in your life. If you’re struggling with how to show up for yourself while still holding space for family, I’d love to talk. You don’t have to go through it alone.

I was just 18 when I adopted my first child. Some people told me I was too young. Others told me I’d never love him the same as I would a “child of my own.” But the moment I became his mother, I knew something they didn’t. That love isn’t about blood. Love is a choice. And I chose him, fully. That child showed me what true love is. He softened me. He matured me. He made me want to be better in every possible way. Years later, I gave birth to two more children. I can honestly say this: my love for my adopted son is no different than the love I have for the children I carried. He's not “like” my son. He is my son. Always has been. Always will be. Adoption gave me purpose. It shaped the mother I became. And if you’ve adopted, are thinking about it, or are navigating the complexities of blended or non-traditional families. I’d love to hold space for that with you.

It can be challenging to manage relationships with siblings as an adult: past conflict, difficulty setting boundaries, and developing an identity that is unfamiliar to them all contribute to the complex web of family dynamics. As a teenager and young adult, I struggled with maintaining boundaries with my siblings, and as I became more authentic, relaxed, and confident, some of those relationships became very challenging. I have learned to approach things differently, developing a sense of stability in myself through the upheaval of redefining relationships.

When I first began navigating my own mental health challenges, I realized quickly how hard it can feel when the people closest to you don’t understand—or even dismiss—what you’re going through. As a Black woman, I know the weight of stigma and silence in our communities around mental health. Family and friends may mean well, but when support is missing, it can leave you feeling isolated and unheard. I had to learn how to honor my truth, even when others weren’t ready to. That meant finding safe spaces to talk, educating myself about my diagnosis, and practicing radical self-care while setting boundaries with those who didn’t know how to support me. Through this process, I discovered that healing isn’t about convincing everyone else—it’s about affirming yourself and connecting with people who do understand. Now, I walk with others who are on this journey, offering support and strategies to help you stand in your truth, even when it feels like you’re standing alone.

I didn't initially consider my relationship to be an abusive one. I was with my ex-fiance for over five years before making the decision to walk away despite a shared home, pets, finances, and friendships. While we had a great relationship for many years, slight behavior shifts started to give me pause. I didn't trust my gut and overlooked hurtful behaviors. The silent treatment, cold shoulder, and emotional indifference grew into lying, gaslighting, emotional abuse, financial manipulation, and more. If you love your partner but question how you're being treated, I would be honored to walk with you through identifying abusive behaviors in your relationship and understanding the difference between cooperatively working through issues with your partner, and when it's time to move on.

For many years I felt targeted and hurt repeatedly by a member of my immediate family. Despite being younger than me, I always felt bullied and on the defense with them, even in our childhood years. As we got older, they dealt with substance issues that exacerbated their already volatile personality. I eventually chose to prematurely leave the family home to avoid contact with this person, and while contact was minimal in the following years, I eventually went full no-contact due to their hurtful words and actions in order to protect my mental health. Outside of my family, I struggled with negative romantic relationships that impacted my mental and physical health severely, and were even abusive in nature at times. It became a learned skill to go full no contact in order to preserve my sanity and safety, but it offered me so much more freedom than tying my worth to a singular hurtful and rejecting person. No contact looks different for everyone, but can benefit anyone.

It is emotionally gut-wrenching to decide to shut someone out of your life who you’ve loved/felt close to for decades. In my case, it was a brother who broke an unconscionable moral code for me. His action brought my love and regard for him into serious question, and we’ve been estranged ever since. I still hold out hope – and probably always will – that we can reconcile. But I’ve learned a ton through this ordeal that may be helpful to you as well. Dig really deep to truly understand why anything might bother you enough to completely shut out a loved one in your life. Try to put yourself in their shoes to grasp/feel for the personal challenges they may have been facing at the time. How have they responded/attempted to reconnect with you since? Why not simply commit to forgive that person in time and attempt to lead a meaningful reconciliation? Would you have lingering, deep regrets if you never bonded with that person again? Might these answers help you move forward?

Parenting a child with special needs changes everything. Your pace, your priorities, and often your sense of self. I know the exhaustion that comes with endless appointments, meltdowns, sleepless nights, and feeling like no one truly understands. I have walked that path, learning how to show up for my children while still trying to hold on to myself. Over time I realized that being a good parent does not mean being perfect. It means being present, adaptive, and kind to yourself too. Now I help other parents find their rhythm again. Balancing advocacy with rest, guilt with grace, and chaos with connection. Together we explore ways to support both your child’s growth and your own well-being.

As a daughter of traditional South Asian immigrants, my upbringing was quite different than my American peers. I still hesitate to share if I'm hanging out with a male friend, even though I am pestered about marriage. Getting older has also involved outgrowing attitudes about myself, family, and relationships that hold me back, guilt included. I've worked to find my authentic self and accept occasionally being the black sheep in my close-knit family whom I love being near, but still need to enact boundaries with or know when to deep breathe instead of react. This also involves understanding the challenges with comparing to cousins in India, or peers whose parents grew up in America. If you've been stressed by the conflict of the third-culture sandwich, I'd love to chat.

I am the parent of two kiddos who experience the world deeply and fully in what feels like every moment. There are sensory challenges, misunderstandings, stimming, and hyperfixations that we navigate together all of the time. We are aiming to raise our kids with intentionality so they understand themselves and their needs while not making them feel like anything is "wrong" with them, the tricky balance of it all. They are extraordinary in a world not really built for how they experience things, so we work together on how to move through the world so they feel safe and supported.