Healing Outside the Therapy Room
Finding Your Way Home
Welcome to a space created for those who had to become adults before they were ready. If you grew up navigating the choppy waters of neglect, abuse, sudden loss, or divorce—this is for you.
Many who find their way here struggle with the aftermath of difficult childhoods. The emotional whirlwind that follows you into adulthood doesn't have a simple name, though some call it complex trauma. You might experience overwhelming anxiety, hyper-vigilance, or identify as neurodivergent. Many of my clients resonate with being the strong one, simultaneously feeling highly sensitive. Perhaps you recognize yourself as someone who learned to survive rather than thrive.
Those who grew up in homes marked by chaos or with emotionally unavailable parents often struggle to find places where they truly belong. The complexity of your past has shaped your present in ways that can feel overwhelming and isolating.
I want you to know that you've found a home here—a place where your experiences are seen and validated. Your story matters. Your struggles are real. And most importantly, you are not alone on this journey.
Together, we can explore the path toward healing, one step at a time.If you don’t see the topic you are looking for and you would like me to cover it, please feel free to send me a request here. I would genuinely love to hear from you!
A Year of Integration: Power, Belonging, and Winter Wisdom for Autistic Women
In Celtic mythology, the Cailleach is the ancient keeper of winter. She governs storms, stone, sea, and stillness — not as punishment, but as preservation.
She is known to take many forms. She wears many faces. But unlike the exhausting shape-shifting so many of us are taught to perform, the Cailleach does not fracture herself to be acceptable. She embodies the whole.
She commands respect for difference — for terrain, weather, timing, and limits. She does not ask the mountain to become the sea, or the winter to behave like summer. She honors what is, and in doing so, holds immense power.
For years, I have returned to her wisdom as a way of understanding my own nervous system, my work, and my relationship to the world.
This year feels unmistakably like a Cailleach year for me.
Not a year of reinvention —
but a year of integration.
Neurodivergent Joy, Sensory Haven, and the Whymeez
Crisp autumn mornings. Trees emblazoned with rich yellows, oranges, and burgundy. The alluring scents of pumpkin, cinnamon, and vanilla.
I love the harbingers of fall—along with the bittersweet kiss of nostalgia this season always seems to promise. Themes of letting go and self-reflection fit the waning daylight like a glove, and we quite literally offset them with our own sources of light. Thank you, Thomas Edison, and thank you to the ancient civilizations who first gave us candlelight.
Perhaps it’s because of the darkness that we begin to rely more heavily on our senses—the feeling that lends itself to cozy blankets, the smelling that inspires scented candles, and the tasting that calls for warm soups and chilis—pleasantly intoxicating when we slow down enough to notice. For me, honoring my unique sensory experiences has become a non-negotiable practice born from the realization that on the other side of sensory overwhelm lies sensory haven.
Sometimes being sensory-sensitive can feel isolating, inconvenient, and frustrating. But here’s what I’ve learned. We aren’t all meant to thrive in the same ways, hence the parallels between biodiversity and neurodiversity. And while it can feel lonely to sit out of loud and crowded spaces where others seemingly thrive, it can feel empowering to curate your own environmental haven through the senses.
