The story behind the wandering.

I’ve always been the one who felt the world a little too brightly and a little too loudly. The one who needed to move — literally and figuratively — to feel alive. For years, I tried to plant myself in places and roles that looked “normal,” only to feel my roots withering in soil that wasn’t mine.

Eventually, I stopped trying to belong to the pavement and started following the wilder trails. I became a nomad — living between vans and forests, mountains and coastlines — and somewhere in that wandering I finally met myself.

I’m neurodivergent, too. I know what it’s like to carry complex trauma while also carrying an unshakable sense that you were made for something softer, deeper, and more honest than the world keeps offering. I know the exhaustion of masking, the grief of realizing how much of yourself you’ve hidden, and the quiet revolution of deciding you’re done performing.

That’s why I do this work the way I do.

I don’t believe people need to be fixed. I believe we need to be deeply known — and then gently supported as we come home to who we’ve always been underneath the survival strategies.

My approach blends clinical wisdom with something older: the understanding that humans heal best when we’re connected to rhythm, to nature, to real relationships, and to our own wild, beautiful wiring. I bring tea and laughter and long silences and nature metaphors that sometimes land and sometimes crack something open. I’m not the therapist who has it all figured out. I’m the one walking alongside you, still learning, still wandering, still in awe of how resilient a misfit heart can be.

This isn’t about becoming someone new.
It’s about becoming more fully yourself — the version that grows like a wildflower in whatever soil she finds, the version that no longer apologizes for taking up space or needing things the world wasn’t built to give her.

You’re not too much.
You’re just enough.

And you’re allowed to take up the whole meadow.