Through years of mental rewiring, I practice mindful living. This comes with the often loud voice of self-awareness, as well as presence and acceptance. Mindfulness is the difference between mindlessly binge watching tv that harms your sleep to numb against upset, versus enjoying one cookie. And I obviously still struggle! Acceptance also involves loving your true self and knowing your worth. I'd love to share tips and challenges as we go on a mindful journey together.

I know that bone-deep exhaustion. That feeling where you know what you need to do, like clean up, but you have zero energy, and the task feels impossibly big. Then the shame and embarrassment pile on, so you're too embarrassed to ask for help. It's a painful cycle. As a fellow "Neurospicy Sister," I live with this executive dysfunction and fatigue. I created this space to help you break that cycle, judgment-free, and find a shame-free starting point.

There was a time my body felt like a stranger—unpredictable, weak, and disconnected from the version of me I used to know. I wanted to show up in the world like I used to, but chronic fatigue and recurring health issues made even simple things feel exhausting. People would say, “But you look fine!” and I’d smile while quietly spiraling inside. It took time to learn how to befriend my body again. I started listening to it instead of fighting it. I gave myself permission to rest, to say no, and to ask for support—even when it felt uncomfortable.

I've battled knowing who i am for a long time, and after years of continuing to work on myself i found skills that have helped me to be more readily willing to share and open up, and to know and believe in my self worth and to overcome negative self talk and feelings of unworthiness, and feeling unloved, and ashamed. i found the strength to see myself for who i am through my own eyes instead of the eyes of others.

I grew up believing that strength meant being able to take harsh words, pressure, and negativity without breaking. If I crumbled under cruel or brutal talk, I thought it meant I was weak. Over time, I internalized that message and spoke to myself in the same harsh way, thinking it would make me stronger. But instead, it wore me down and made me feel small. Through practice, I’ve learned that positive self-talk isn’t weakness—it’s courage. Choosing to speak to myself with compassion instead of criticism has helped me build true resilience and self-acceptance. Now, I use gentle, encouraging words to remind myself that I am worthy, capable, and human. Practicing positive self-talk has been a big part of how I continue to heal and grow, and it’s something I’m passionate about sharing with others.

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.

Living with ADHD is like running a marathon with your shoes tied together. My brain doesn’t move in a straight line. It zigzags, leaps, crashes, and forgets why it entered the room. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been called “lazy,” “scattered,” or “inconsistent.” But the truth is, I’m doing my best in a world that wasn’t built for brains like mine. ADHD isn’t just being distracted. It’s the shame of missed deadlines, the overwhelm of executive dysfunction, the paralysis when you know what to do but can’t do it. It’s the highs of hyperfocus, the lows of burnout, and the constant inner monologue telling you you’re never doing enough. But ADHD isn’t a flaw. It’s a different operating system. And once I stopped trying to force myself into neurotypical molds, I started to find a rhythm that worked for me. It’s still messy. But it’s mine. If you’re feeling misunderstood, exhausted, or ashamed of your scattered mind, I see you.

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.

Growing up in the early 2000s, diet culture had a very negative impact on my relationship with food and my body. Societal pressure and generational trauma ingrained in me that I was better off small and frail, rather than confident and healthy. Once I grew into adulthood, I was not prepared for the changes my body would undergo, and did not know how to properly fuel and move my body. This caused me to overcorrect and dive head first into an eating disorder to lose weight that was never a problem in the first place. Over the next ten years, this tapered off rather than came to an immediate end. Eating disorders are years long battles, and sometimes never go away completely. Relapses happen along the way, and what matters more is changing how you react to them. I am fortunate that I have reached a place of self care and acceptance, but this did not come without incredibly hard work and reflection.

I’m Krista, and for years I battled with low self-worth and shattered confidence after surviving toxic relationships that left me questioning who I was. Those experiences broke me down but also became the turning point that sparked my journey toward healing and reclaiming my voice. Through deep personal work and my career in social work, child protective services, and counseling at a federal halfway house, I discovered the power of resilience and compassion—not just for others but for myself. Now, as a coach, I’m passionate about helping people who feel stuck or broken, especially those recovering from toxic relationships. I walk beside them to rebuild confidence, find their worth, and believe in a future filled with hope. Your story matters, and healing is possible no matter where you’ve been.

I've restarted more than I can count: education, career, marriage and divorce, new dreams and new places. I've gone through tough periods of not knowing where to turn, poverty, disability, grief and parenting. Somehow I have managed to build a life that looks like mine. Not perfect. It's got a little edge. But...it's mine. This came from the lessons I learned trying to earn my worth through productivity, perfection and trying to be the person everyone else needed. The burnout came and I unraveled, which is what I needed. I know what it's like to feel behind, broken and wondering if you'll ever want anything again. Let me meet you there and hold a light next to you. You got this.

For years, I struggled with clothes. I never fit the mold, always feeling like I had to hide my body, my neurodivergent sensory quirks, my real self. Growing up in rural Appalachia didn't help either. The game changed when I started using fashion as a tool for self-discovery and self-compassion, not just “looking good” for someone else. If you’re curious how clothes can help you embrace your neurodivergent identity, practice more kindness with yourself, or just figure out what feels good for you (not the algorithm), let’s talk. I think style is a core part of neurodivergent identity and can be a powerful tool to feel more yourself and at home in your own skin. That can look like maximalism or wearing the same thing every day. Bring your closet wins, fails, weird questions, and hopes for self-acceptance.

Ever felt trapped by the need to be “enough”? I have. I was bullied for my weight throughout my childhood and developed an eating disorder at 13. I spent years skipping meals, bingeing and purging, and misusing stimulants to control my body. It was a cycle that left me exhausted, isolated, and believing I was broken. But recovery taught me that I wasn’t broken — I was hurting and surviving. I started to rebuild a relationship with my body — learning to listen rather than fight it. I began asking, “What is my body trying to tell me?” and showing gratitude when it communicated through hunger, fatigue, heavy emotions or even pain. Through gentle, purposeful movement and talking with others who truly understood, I realized HOPE is real and overcoming my negative self-talk was POSSIBLE. I’m so so grateful for the chance to walk beside you on your own paths at your pace & on your terms. Healing isn’t measured in numbers or sizes — it’s in giving yourself the grace to simply be enough.

Growing up, I didn’t always get the emotional support I needed. I took on the needs of others, which caused me much anxiety. As a child, I internalized the idea that my feelings were too much—or not important at all. This left a lasting impact that followed me into adulthood. I became extremely self-critical, anxious, and constantly sought validation from others. As I began healing from anxiety and addiction, I realized that part of my recovery involved going back—not to relive the pain, but to offer my younger self the care I never received. Through inner child work, journaling, and self-compassion practices, I started to “reparent” myself: validating my emotions, setting healthy boundaries, and learning to nurture myself like a loving caregiver would. This shift was life-changing. I stopped chasing external validation and started showing up for myself with kindness and patience. Reparenting helped me feel whole and safe in my own body—sometimes for the first time.

For years, I was my own worst critic. I judged myself harshly, compared myself to others, and silenced my inner voice with substances. I didn’t realize how deep my self-abandonment ran until I began the healing process. The turning point came when I learned that no one else could give me the love I was starving for—not in a lasting way. I had to learn how to offer it to myself first. In recovery, I began treating myself like someone I actually cared about. I practiced speaking kindly to myself. I explored therapeutic art, forgiveness practices, and daily rituals to reconnect with the parts of me that had been ignored or shamed. Slowly, I began to like myself—and eventually, I became my own best friend. This wasn’t just a mindset shift—it was a full transformation in how I related to myself. I stopped abandoning myself when things got hard. I stood by myself in the storm, and that’s what helped me thrive. This also slowly reduced my anxiety and stress levels over time.

Forgiveness wasn’t easy for me. I carried so much pain—toward people who had hurt me, and maybe more than anyone, toward myself. For a long time, I couldn’t let go of the guilt, the shame, and the anger I had buried deep. I thought that if I forgave, I’d be letting others off the hook… or denying the damage that had been done. But when I began my recovery journey, I realized that forgiveness wasn’t about them. It was about me. It was about setting myself free from the weight of the past so I could heal and move forward. Through forgiveness therapy, self-reflection, and deep inner work, I learned how to release old emotional burdens. I forgave my past self for coping the only way I knew how at the time. I forgave others for not showing up the way I needed. And with that, something beautiful happened: I created space for peace, joy, and self-love to take root. Forgiveness became one of the most transformational parts of my recovery. It helped me break free from the cycle of resentment, shame, and emotional pain.

One of the hardest parts of healing from addiction wasn’t just learning to trust myself again—it was learning how to rebuild trust with others. Addiction can create a trail of broken promises, strained relationships, and unspoken pain. I carried deep guilt and fear that I’d never be worthy of trust again. But I’ve learned that trust, like healing, can be rebuilt—one honest moment at a time. As I began living in alignment with my values, showing up for myself, and making consistent choices rooted in love and integrity, something shifted. The people around me started to notice. I stopped trying to prove myself and focused instead on being present, being honest, and being real. Over time, I rebuilt relationships that mattered and created new, healthier ones that felt safe and authentic. Most importantly, I learned how to forgive myself—and that’s what allowed me to open my heart again.

For many years, I turned to alcohol and marijuana to cope with my anxiety. At first, they seemed like a quick fix, but over time, I realized they were only masking the issue, not solving it. I reached a point where I knew I had to find a better way to manage my anxiety without relying on substances that only made things worse. My struggles with anxiety and addiction began early. My parents’ divorce when I was 8 left me feeling isolated and insecure. As a teenager, I turned to substances to numb the anxiety that overwhelmed me. By the time I was 21, alcohol became my crutch. I drank to cope with anxiety, but it only made things worse, leading to lost jobs and damaged relationships. Eventually, I realized I couldn’t keep living this way. I began exploring more holistic ways to manage my anxiety, focusing on rebuilding my self-esteem. The tools that helped me most were rooted in self-love, forgiveness, and mindfulness. Practices like therapeutic art, qigong, and nutrition helped me connect with my body and calm my mind. Today, I’ve rebuilt my life with peace, joy, and self-compassion. I’m committed to helping others do the same, knowing firsthand that healing is possible. With the right tools and support, you can break free from old patterns and create a fulfilling, anxiety-free life.

After five years of celibacy and deep self-reflection, I re-entered the dating world only to realize healing is not a one-time destination, but it’s a continual journey. I had to unlearn patterns, recognize my attraction to emotionally unavailable partners, and slowly open myself up to love again without losing myself. What I discovered is that healed dating is about discernment, boundaries, and emotional safety. It’s about recognizing your worth, refusing to settle, and creating the type of love you once thought you couldn’t have. I look forward to helping you navigate the same space.

Talk with me about the ups and downs of living with bipolar: especially the crashes that can feel heavy, frustrating, and out of your control. I’ve been there myself. Over time, I’ve learned to see those crashes not as personal failures, but as my body’s wisdom calling me to rest and restore. In this session, you’ll have a safe space to process what you’re experiencing, release self-judgment, and begin to reframe your relationship with your cycles. Together, we’ll explore gentle ways to honor your body, stabilize your emotions, and move forward with compassion for yourself.