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 know what it’s like to feel isolated, anxious, and hesitant to connect with others — living with Avoidant Personality Disorder can make even simple interactions feel overwhelming. I’ve faced these challenges myself and worked through them, learning strategies to manage fear, build confidence, and create meaningful connections. I offer a safe, non-judgmental space to talk about your experiences, explore coping strategies, and gain practical tools for navigating social and personal situations with more ease.

I understand how overwhelming social situations can feel when you’re living with social anxiety. I’ve faced these challenges myself and have learned strategies to manage fear, build confidence, and navigate interactions with more ease. I provide a safe, non-judgmental space to talk about your experiences, explore coping techniques, and gain practical tools for connecting with others.

I offer understanding and support for those healing from religious trauma. Growing up, I was physically forced to attend church, and if I refused, I was disciplined harshly. Those experiences taught me how damaging it can be when faith is used to control rather than uplift. Later in life, I was also targeted and judged by a religious person simply for being bisexual. These experiences have given me a deep empathy for others who’ve been shamed, silenced, or hurt under the guise of religion. I create a safe, judgment-free space where people can process their pain, reclaim their voice, and begin to heal at their own pace.

I struggled with my mental health for most of my life. I have severe clinical major depression, C-PTSD, and generalized anxiety with panic disorder. I have survived two serious suicide attempts- one which stopped my heart for five minutes, and the second which landed me in a coma. It took years of trying different medications and treatments to find a combination that worked for me and brought me into remission. If I can get better, so can you!!

Born schizophrenic and bipolar in 1985, as a child I guided ghosts through unfinished business and peacefully mediated extraterrestrial disputes for interstellar healing. Why was I born this way? Only God knows for sure but I've learned to love with it! 🫶🏼 Schizoæffection is the process of melding broken worlds and renewing hope in the Eternal, connecting disparate ideas for better futures (also known as Schizoaffective Disorder;) 😻 I overcome Schizoaffective Disorder through deep listening, intentional peer support, Advanced Care Planning and eco-therapy. 🙏🏼 Let's turn madness into magic 🪄✨

In my early 20s, I began misusing prescription medications, which slowly led me into more destructive substance use that took a heavy toll on my life. Alongside navigating mental health challenges, I searched for healing through many different pathways. I explored various recovery models and therapeutic modalities—taking what helped me and leaving the rest. Over time, I built a personal toolbox that truly supported the parts of me that needed care, not judgment. I’ve been on my recovery journey since 2020, and becoming a peer support specialist was inspired by the incredible people I met in support groups. Building a support system was one of the most life-changing and life-saving parts of my path. Now, I hold space for others to find their own way through chaotic substance use and mental health struggles, with compassion, choice, and hope.

I’ve struggled with anxiety since I was a young child. Early on, I felt it in my chest, like a weight pressing me down, making it hard to move, breathe, or feel free—trapped by it. That feeling has been with me my whole life, though now I have more tools and coping skills to face it than I did for the longest time. Anxiety has hit me hard, prevented me from doing so much, and filled me with despair, panic, and even thoughts of harming myself just to find relief. Over time, I’ve learned healthier, healing ways to manage it, and I’m proud of the progress I’ve made. I deeply appreciate the tools I’ve gained through therapy and self-discovery. I want you to know you’re not alone, and I’d love to talk with you, share understanding, and offer support so you feel seen, heard, and connected through the tough moments.

My journey with mental illness began in my early teens with a diagnosis of “Depression with Psychotic Features.” At 21, I started hearing voices and was hospitalized for psychosis, later diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder, Depressive type. I don’t love the labels—I just know I hear voices. They can be scary and haunting, but they also give me moments of reflection. I take medication to help manage them and stay grounded. I’ve struggled with intense, nightmarish hallucinations, though now the voices are often people asking for help, echoes of their earlier demons. Accepting my diagnosis was really hard, especially with all the stigma and shame, but I want you to know you’re not alone. I offer support to talk about hearing voices, psychosis, or anything related on your mind.

I started self-harming at 13. For years it was my go-to for any overwhelming feeling — a secret crutch that led to many severe episodes and multiple psychiatric hospitalizations. Gradually I made small changes that made life more manageable, but urges still come up; I’ll probably always be a person who needs to manage cravings. I’m not perfect or “cured,” I’m in recovery — not a destination but ongoing work: learning gentler coping skills, unpacking why I turned to harm, and facing the grief, guilt, shame, isolation and emptiness it left behind. Over time I found deeper reasons to keep going: building a sense of self, pride in growth, and joy that outlasts the temporary relief of hurting. I’m here to listen, to explore what your journey looks like, and to support whatever steps you want to take — or simply hold space for your triggers, urges, and pain.

Growing up my sister and I always complained about how my mom had a specfic order for loading the dishwasher, doing the laundry, and organizing the fridge. But now I am the same way, and it is more than just wanting things to be neat or organized, it's a nagging thought or consistent voice in my brain telling me things need to be a certain way and if they can't be my anxiety is raised. The thing about OCD is that it may seem nonsensical to those on the outside, like not putting the dishes in the washer in the "correct" way, but for those with OCD it is constant voice telling me that if things aren't the way I want them, then they are wrong and I will continue to think about it until I fix or change it. After being diagnosed with OCD, I was able to go through my thoughts and categorize them as rational and OCD, allowing me to challenge my OCD thoughts with rational thoughts and facts.

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.

I grew up in a conservative Catholic community where exploring my identity wasn't an option. I married twice to men and lived much of my early adulthood according to expectations that never truly fit. It wasn't until later, through a lot of therapy and personal work, that I realized I was a lesbian. Coming out wasn't easy—it meant redefining my relationships, facing family expectations, and learning to live more authentically. I’m now happily married to a woman and raising our beautiful five-year-old daughter, with a lot of pride in the journey it took to get here. Therapy, supportive friendships, and staying committed to my mental health helped me embrace who I am. I've helped others find the courage to live authentically too, whether it’s young LGBTQ+ coworkers facing unsupportive environments or friends making life-changing decisions. I would be honored to be a listening ear for anyone navigating the complex and emotional path of coming out later in life.

Growing up, my parents told me I was very smart but lazy. At some point in elementary school, I learned about ADHD and thought I might have it. I told my parents, and they told me I was just looking for excuses. Having ADHD caused me to act out, and other kids called me annoying. Constant criticism at an early age can cause children to become extremely self-conscious and develop social anxiety, which I definitely did. I struggled through school, both academically and socially. In college, I saw that the grad students wanted to experiment on someone who suspects they have undiagnosed ADHD. I signed up, and they told me I had a moderate to extreme case. Convincing myself I could ignore it as I had most of my life, I didn't seek real treatment or start addressing it until my 30s. I had many unresolved feelings of anger about my childhood, but I have since come to terms with it, and reading about it, as well as having therapy and medication, helped me with the symptoms to love myself.

I know what it’s like to second-guess everything and feel like an imposter in rooms where everyone else seems more confident, more capable, more 'put together.' I’ve battled those thoughts in friendships, work, creative projects, and more. No matter how much I accomplished, that little voice telling me I wasn’t enough kept creeping in. Over time, I’ve learned that imposter syndrome isn’t a sign that you aren’t capable—it’s often a reflection of deep self-awareness, high standards, and past experiences that made you doubt your worth. Working through it isn’t about silencing those thoughts completely; it’s about recognizing them, questioning them, and learning how to move forward anyway. Through peer support, I’ve helped others navigate these feelings—validating their fears while uncovering strategies to build confidence in who they are. You don’t have to prove your worth to anyone. You just have to see it for yourself.

I thought resilience meant pushing through—gritting my teeth, swallowing feelings, and forcing myself to ‘just deal with it.’ But that left me drained and butting against as brick wall. You see, strength isn’t just enduring struggles; it’s about adapting, processing, and allowing yourself space to heal. Self-compassion was the hardest piece. I didn’t realize how much I held myself to unrealistic standards, expecting perfection where I should’ve offered myself grace. Over time, I started embracing the idea that strength isn’t about ignoring pain—it’s about acknowledging it and choosing how to move forward with care. Through my work in peer support, I’ve helped others cultivate resilience in a way that feels sustainable—balancing the need for self-protection with the power of self-kindness. If you’ve ever felt like you’re being too hard on yourself or struggling to recover from challenges, I get it. Let’s explore ways to navigate life with strength and softness.

I was studying psychology in college and dreamed of becoming a psychologist. But before I even graduated, I began experiencing delusions and deep emotional swings I couldn’t explain. I was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and everything shifted. My diagnosis made it feel like my career goals slipped out of reach, and I lost my footing. I turned to substances like weed, alcohol, psychedelics to cope. I found myself in a string of chaotic and toxic relationships, including one that turned physically abusive. I overstayed, not trusting myself to leave, until I finally reached a breaking point. Medication helped, but so did having people in my life who reminded me I was still worthy of love and healing. Meeting my now-husband helped me believe in my future again. I got sober in 2023, and even though I still live with bipolar disorder, it no longer defines what I can’t do, it helps me know exactly what I need to thrive. If you’re navigating life after diagnosis, I want you to know you’re not alone. There is a path forward, and it gets clearer with time and support.