I grew up with a single mother who loved me but carried pain that spilled over no matter how hard she tried to hold it in. Addiction shaped my childhood—the swings between tenderness and chaos, the sense I had to grow up too soon. For years I thought healing meant pretending it hadn’t touched me. As an adult, I found my father—someone I’d imagined but never known. Building a bond from fragments is its own ache; you meet them and the version of yourself that never did. At the same time, I’ve learned to rebuild trust with the parent who raised me while protecting the peace I’ve fought for. Love and pain can coexist. Family doesn’t stop being complicated just because we understand it better. Together, we can explore what healing might look like for you—honoring what still matters, setting boundaries that keep you safe, and building the security every person deserves.

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 understand the deep, complex pain of relationships that feel like they're breaking or have already broken. I know what it's like to feel 'stuck,' going back and forth on an impossible decision about a long-term, difficult partnership. I also know the profound, isolating grief of a painful family estrangement. It's a loneliness and confusion that's hard to describe. I created this space because I'm in it. I've had to learn how to set the hardest boundaries, cope with the uncertainty, and begin to find a way to bounce back and build a new life for myself. This is a safe space to process it all, without judgment."

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 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.

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?

Talk to me about surviving domestic violence. I understand what it’s like to live through and parent through fear, confusion, and rebuilding. We can talk about safety, grief, and rediscovering yourself at your own pace.

As a mom of three — including a non-binary child — and part of a blended, multicultural family, I understand what it means to hold space for everyone’s truth. I can help you build that same safety in your home

I was married when my husband told me he should have been a woman. That revelation cracked open everything I thought I knew—about my marriage, my sexuality, and my worth as a woman. I questioned my desirability, my femininity, and whether my needs even mattered. I attempted to go along with this change for about a year but divorce was the end result. I walked through a storm of emotions that most people never talk about. It's affected me in surprising and lasting ways. I'm very liberal and have many trans and queer friends but having my partner want that within our relationship was really something I never thought i'd have to navigate. More then anything tho, i yearned to find someone who had gone through what i was going thru. It was incredibly isolating.

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.

Do you ever wish your sibling relationship looked like the ones you see on TV—supportive, loyal, and close—but you’ve accepted it may never be that way? If you’re tired of the hurt and the hope colliding, let’s talk. Maybe you just need space to grieve what the relationship isn’t, or maybe you want to explore ways to protect your peace when family dynamics get messy. I get it—it’s painful to realize you can’t change someone else, but you can change how much control they have over your well-being. For many, siblings aren’t the safe place they hoped for. Maybe you’re just never on the same page, or maybe their behavior makes closeness feel out of reach. Longing for connection that isn’t there is exhausting, and what makes it worse is when family blames you for not trying harder to “fix” things. I’ve lived through sibling disconnect myself, and I know how deep it cuts. That’s why I hold space for these conversations—to remind you that you don’t have to carry that hurt alone.

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.

I learned I had to set boundaries even before I got married young regarding my narcisstic, alcoholic and abusive mother. She was constantly controling everything and everyone in my life. She was even overly friendly with a boyfriend I had in high school and forced me to break up with him. She showed up drunk and physically abusive towards me repeatedly in my home after I got married. She forced me to choose between my family and my marriage over and over. this behavior caused me to cut her out of my life multiple times which caused havoc in my already troubled marriage. He blamed me for our problems because of my mother's interference and behaviors. After I finally left my marriage, my oldest son still resents me after all these years for actually not leaving his father sooner. He has chosen not to talk to me again and blames me for his troubled relationships and life. I did finally cut off my mother to keep my sanity. Hopefully, my son and I will be able to heal soon.

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.

After the birth of my daughter, I went through postpartum depression and psychosis—something I never expected to experience. It shook every part of my identity as a new mom and a partner. My mental health struggles caused pain in my marriage, and I could see how hard it was for my husband too. I felt ashamed, overwhelmed, and alone. On top of that, I was navigating tough relationships with my parents and trying to create boundaries that didn’t spiral into conflict. Through psychotherapy, psychiatry, and eventually becoming a Certified Peer Support Specialist, I began to heal. I’ve had to distance myself from unsupportive people, stop using alcohol to cope, and challenge the voice in my head that told me I wasn’t enough. I lost a job during this time, too, and had to find a new sense of balance as a working mom. It hasn’t been easy, but reclaiming my sense of self has been worth it. Now I support others through those lonely moments of recovery and transformation, because no one should have to do it alone.

For of my life, my mother’s words cut me down more than they lifted me up. She was always criticizing me—how I looked, the choices I made, even my dreams. It felt like no matter what I did, it was never enough. I started to believe her, and deep down I thought maybe I really didn’t have the potential to succeed. As I got older, something shifted. I began to realize that her criticism wasn’t really about me, it was about her fears, her disappointments, and the way she was raised. She didn’t know how to encourage because she had never received encouragement herself. That realization didn’t erase the pain, but it helped me see her with more compassion. The first step in fixing our relationship was setting boundaries. Instead of staying quiet when she put me down, I started speaking calmly. It took time, patience, and forgiveness on my part, but slowly, our relationship began to heal. She hasn’t completely changed, but she tries and catches herself before making certain comments.

Growing up in the closet while being raised in a religious household was very tough. I didn’t know if I could ever come out or if I would ever be able to live life on my own terms. The first person I ever came out to was my pastor and he thankfully supported me and helped me figure out how to come out to my parents. Since then, I’ve learned how to fully embrace my queerness and love myself without any limits. I’ve also learned how to cultivate a healthy relationship with my mom that has gone through (and still continues through) ups and downs because of my sexual orientation. Now, I want to help others who are going through the same thing. I want to learn about your story and hear what you’ve been through. We all deserve love and acceptance and I’m here to tell you that you are not alone. I can’t wait to hear your story.

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.