Are you carrying more than you can name—grief, shame, exhaustion, fear—and longing for a space that doesn’t rush to fix you? In this session, we’ll slow down together. I’ll guide you through gentle mindfulness and loving-kindness practices from Buddhist and Christian traditions, offering a spiritually inclusive space to reconnect with your breath, body, and inner dignity. Whether your language is sacred silence, whispered prayer, scripture, or sutra, we’ll find what fits. This is especially for those who feel spiritually displaced, burnt out, or curious about healing with compassion at the center. No meditation experience needed. No pressure to believe anything. Just bring a flicker of openness. I’ll meet you there.

I’ve been the full-time caregiver, the one people lean on, the one holding it all together—and I know the deep cost it can take on your body, your spirit, and your sense of self. I’ve lived through compassion fatigue, emotional depletion, and the aching silence that comes when no one asks how you’re doing. Through my own healing journey—using mindfulness, spiritual practice, and support—I’ve learned how to create space that honors both your exhaustion and your love. I don’t offer advice. I offer presence, perspective, and a place to lay something down.If you’re always the strong one, the caregiver, the steady presence—this space is for you. I offer grounded, judgment-free support for people experiencing burnout and compassion fatigue. Whether you're parenting, caregiving for a partner or elder, or working in a helping profession, I know what it’s like to give until you disappear. In our session, you’ll have space to name what’s hard and not feel selfish for needing help.

I am no stranger to stress! My background in health psychology and experience with the therapeutic process can help you achieve your goals of managing and coping with stress, in addition to regulating emotions. The mission isn't to rid our lives of stress - which is impossible - but to develop a healthy relationship with life's challenges and ourselves, and feel comfortable facing unpleasant emotions.

My story began in childhood, where I lost both of my sisters and had to navigate a chaotic home life, all before reaching the age of nine. After years of struggling with ADHD, depression, suicide ideation, attempts, and hospitalizations, I was eventually diagnosed with Bipolar 1. I know what it feels like to feel completely alone and unseen. My experiences as a Black Woman who lives with mental health diagnoses have given me a different perspective. I am here to support you and to create a safe space where you can finally fully unmask and know you won't be judged.

I know that exhaustion. That feeling of being the "only one" in a room and feeling the pressure to code-switch, to "mask," to perform in a way that makes everyone else comfortable. I know the burden of navigating stereotypes and microaggressions and the isolation that comes with it. As a Black woman, I've lived this. I've been there. I created this space to help you find the confidence to unmask, to show up as your authentic self, and to navigate these spaces without losing your peace or your identity.

For much of my life, I faced challenges that tested my emotional resilience and sense of self. Through my own healing journey, I learned the value of slowing down, reflecting, and developing healthy coping tools. Over time, I became the friend and support system others could turn to during their hardest moments. My experiences have taught me the importance of listening with compassion, respecting each person’s unique story, and creating a safe space where people feel truly seen. Now, I want to share that same steady presence to help others navigate change, rebuild confidence, and discover their own inner strength.

The pandemic disrupted more than routines - it reshaped identities , relationships and the way many of us relate to our bodies, boundaries and beliefs . For me COVID-19 wasn't just a global event; it was a personal reckoning. Isolation bought clarity, loss revealed what was unsustainable . In my own life I had to re-evaluate what safety meant, how I showed up in relationships an what parts of me were worth preserving - not just performing, especially during a time of great changes.

Suffering from chronic illnesses and difficulties taught m how to be a better advocate for myself so I know the pain of doctors, medicines, and treatments. and i am here to provide hope and resources so that you dont have to travel the road of pain suffering and agony alone

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the end of 2022, everything changed—fast. I was in graduate nursing school, still teaching, and actively working as an RN during the tail-end of the pandemic. Suddenly, I had to step away from all of it. The diagnosis was overwhelming, and facing a left breast mastectomy was something I couldn’t have imagined just months earlier. The recovery was not just physical—it shook me emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I leaned hard into therapy, dug deep into self-reflection, and began reconstructing my life from a place of compassion and clarity. Now, over two years cancer-free, I’m focused on building something new as a nurse entrepreneur and advocate. I don’t pretend it was easy—it wasn’t. But I learned how to show up for myself in a way I never had before. If you’re facing a diagnosis, in treatment, or just coming out the other side, I’d be honored to hold space for you. You don’t have to go through it alone.

At the age of 25 after having my two daughters I learned about postpartum depression, and was diagnosed with Asperger’s. Since then I have navigated life as a mother, spouse, educator and advocate for disability justice and I would like to help bring equity and inclusivity to the world

My journey includes surviving intimate partner violence and navigating challenges that affected my family and well-being. After making the difficult decision to voluntarily terminate my parental rights to protect my child, I now share my story. Talk with me about the realities of domestic violence, the importance of family preservation when possible, and the gaps in support for parents trying to keep their children safe.

I grew up surrounded by emotional chaos—parents struggling with alcoholism and depression, and a childhood full of absence, confusion, and pain. I witnessed and experienced physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, and for a long time I believed that love had to hurt. Those early wounds followed me into adulthood, shaping my relationships, my decisions, and the way I saw myself. I experienced miscarriage, divorce, and unhealthy romantic partnerships that echoed the abandonment I felt as a child. For years, I felt unlovable, constantly questioning my worth. But eventually, I chose healing. Through therapy, education, holistic work, and deep personal reflection, I began to break the cycle. I’ve now built a life rooted in healthy love, both for my children and for myself. My journey wasn’t easy, but it showed me that healing is possible, even when life is still messy. If you're feeling stuck in old patterns or questioning your worth, I want to walk beside you as you begin to reclaim your story.

I was born into a family and community that did not believe in mental health conditions so that meant that I grew up not having language to describe when I was struggling with my mental health. If I was struggling it had to be because I wasn't doing enough, praying enough, believing God enough, having enough faith, or I wasn't grateful, I was being spoiled, I was too lazy, dehumanizing word after looks of disgust pushed me down further into depression. No one knew what I was going through but they judged me. And I judged myself because that is all I knew how to do, but I couldn't see that it was making things worse. I was fed untrue and ignorant beliefs about what would become my own diagnosis and when I was diagnosed, for the first couple of years I didn't believe it and when I did come to grips with it, I accepted the stigma from my upbringing more than accepting what I was going through because that is all I knew. Now I know that accepting my diagnoses was my first step to healing.

Before I started therapy, I realized I couldn’t keep pretending to be okay. I was deeply depressed, overwhelmed, and carrying years and years of pain I didn't have the tools to face by myself no matter how much I tried. When I finally started therapy for the first time, I expected compassion—but instead, my first therapist made me feel judged for struggling and worse than I came in. I left that session feeling even more alone and almost gave up on therapy altogether. But something in me said to try again. Over time, I learned how to recognize when a therapist isn’t the right fit, how to set boundaries, and how to speak up for what I need. I also learned how important it is to find someone who understands my cultural background and identity and have specialties that meet my needs and values. Therapy became more than just a space to talk—it became a space to heal, to find my voice again, and to learn that I deserve support that truly sees and values all of who I am. You deserve that too!

Living with depression can mean that there can be periods of time where it is difficult to do everyday mundane tasks that seem easy to do. For me, these things include but are not limited to, getting out of bed, socializing, personal interests and hobbies, drinking water and the list goes on. Over time I noticed that those things were easy to do when I was feeling good but when I was feeling bad I couldn't figure out what I did when I was feeling good to make things so easy to do! That struggle only added to the depressive downward spiral because all I wanted was to figure this out. Now that I know that I experience depressive episodes and I experience them a lot more intensely during the winter holidays, I started to build a depression toolbox for myself in the fall to prepare for the Winter season. I know that my depressive symptoms are around grief, and it's easy to experience more Isolation during this time for me. So I create a literal container of things to help me.

I’ve gone through a large part of my life in a state of dissociation. In the back of my mind knowing something was wrong but pretending to myself and to the world that I was “normal”. Then one morning I literally woke up realizing my life had gone on without me being in the drivers seat and I had lost so much. I’ve spent a lot of time in trauma therapy and somatic therapy continuing to wake up, feel my grief and build a conscious life.

Being married while living with mental illness adds layers most people never see. It’s not just about love—it's about learning how to stay connected through depression, anxiety, trauma, and all the unpredictable shifts that come with them. It’s about trying to explain what’s going on inside when you don’t fully understand it yourself. It's about feeling guilt for how your illness impacts your partner, while also needing space and compassion to survive another day. In my marriage, I’ve had to learn how to communicate in ways that are honest but not harmful. I’ve had to set boundaries not just for myself, but for the relationship. I’ve struggled with moments of disconnection, resentment, and fear—but I’ve also learned how powerful it is to grow together when both people are committed to understanding each other deeply. Mental illness doesn't make you unlovable, and it doesn’t mean your relationship is doomed. But it does require intentional work—on yourself, on communication, and on your shared vision of what love looks like when things are hard. If you’re trying to figure out how to stay grounded in your marriage while navigating your own inner battles, I’d love to talk. You’re not alone.

Depression has been a silent shadow in my life. Sometimes heavy, sometimes barely visible, but always there. It’s the weight in my chest, the fog in my mind, the ache in my bones. It’s the exhaustion that sleep won’t fix, and the hollow feeling even when everything should feel okay. It’s more than sadness. It’s numbness. It’s guilt for not being able to “snap out of it.” It’s the quiet wondering if you’re ever going to feel like yourself again, or if you ever did. But here’s what I know now. Depression lies. It tells you you’re lazy, unlovable, or broken. But none of that is true. Through years of unraveling shame, surviving bad days, and holding on by the thinnest threads, I’ve come to know depression intimately. Not as a moral failure, but as a wound in need of care. If you’re tired, if you’re hurting, if you’re barely hanging on, I get it. I’m not here to push you toward false positivity. I’m here to sit with you in the real.

Life doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath, it barrels through like a freight train, throwing deadlines, people, and chaos at you all at once. I’ve been there, drowning in the noise and pressure, feeling like my brain and body were stuck on overload. Stress isn’t some polite visitor; it’s that relentless storm you can’t switch off. I’ve learned the hard way that trying to push through only burns you out faster. Managing overwhelm means slowing down enough to notice what’s really breaking you, giving yourself permission to say “no” or “not right now,” and finding fierce but gentle ways to survive the madness. No BS, no fake cheerleading, just real talk and space for your tired soul. Come, rest, weary traveller.

My son was so depressed for a year and a half, that he missed a large part of the school year. At first, I didn’t understand or recognize it as depression, and I was pushing him to go to school very hard, which led to him getting even more frustrated with himself. After talking to a family coach, we were able to diagnose the real issue, and ask my son open ended questions to try and understand the reasons behind his depression. Then when I took the pressure off and worked on helping him feel good about himself, the depression was able to lift and he made all A’s at school the next year, and made several friends he could hang out with after school as well.