I became a therapist because I was curious about the same thing I'm still curious about: why people who love each other have such a hard time reaching each other.

That question has shaped everything about how I work. I'm not interested in assigning blame or cataloguing what went wrong. I'm interested in the patterns — how they formed, what they're protecting, and what becomes possible when they start to shift.

I hold a Master's degree in Marriage and Family Therapy and have spent years working with individuals and couples navigating disconnection, repeating cycles, and the kind of stuck that's hard to explain but impossible to ignore. My work is grounded in attachment theory — not as a set of labels, but as a way of understanding why we do what we do in the relationships that matter most.

I'm direct without being blunt, curious without being detached, and I take the work seriously without making it heavier than it needs to be. Clients often tell me that things started making sense in a way they hadn't before — not because I gave them a framework, but because we slowed down enough to actually look.

I see clients in person from my yurt office on Bainbridge Island — by the fire in winter, with the windows open when the weather allows. It's a genuinely different kind of space, and that's intentional. I also work with clients throughout Washington State via telehealth.

Outside the office, I'm a mother, a walker, someone who is newly and enthusiastically taking horseback riding lessons, and a person who thinks a lot about what it means to stay connected — to other people and to yourself.

If something here resonates, I'd love to hear from you.