About Me
I’ve always been fascinated by people and their stories. Probably to an annoying degree, honestly.
Not in a detached, “let me analyze you” kind of way. More in a genuine tell me more kind of way.
I’m endlessly interested in how people become who they are — the experiences that shaped them, the patterns they learned, the things they carry quietly, and the protective strategies that once helped them survive but may no longer serve them now.
Most human behavior makes a lot more sense once there’s enough room for the full story.
I don’t believe people are “too much.” I think most people have just spent a very long time not feeling emotionally safe enough to be fully known.
I don’t believe people are “too much.” I think most people have just spent a very long time not feeling emotionally safe enough to be fully known.
That belief shapes the way I approach therapy.
My style tends to be conversational, honest, thoughtful, and deeply relational. There’s room for depth here, but also room for humor, tangents, nervous-system spirals, awkward realizations, and occasionally saying:
“Wait… can we go back to what you said five minutes ago?”
because that’s usually where the important stuff lives.
One of the things clients often tell me is that they feel genuinely listened to in our sessions. Not just politely nodded at, but truly understood in a way that helps them understand themselves more clearly too.
I think being a good therapist involves more than listening for information. I listen for emotional themes, contradictions, offhand comments, subtle shifts, protective patterns, and the things people almost talk themselves out of saying.
Sometimes clients come into session convinced they’re talking about ten unrelated things, and somewhere along the way we realize they’ve actually been describing the same wound from five different directions.
And honestly? I love that process.
I’m rarely shocked by humanity. Most people make far more sense than they think they do once their story has enough room to unfold.
As a blind therapist, I think a lot about what it means to feel truly seen.
Many of my clients come into therapy carrying experiences that have left them feeling misunderstood, emotionally alone, emotionally exhausted, or unseen in ways they’ve struggled to put words to. One of the greatest privileges of this work is getting to sit with people in those spaces without trying to rush, fix, judge, or reduce them to a label.
Therapy with me is not about performing emotional perfection. You do not need to show up with polished insight, organized thoughts, or a beautifully packaged explanation for why you feel the way you do. Honestly, some of the most meaningful moments in therapy start with:
“So this is probably stupid, but…”
or:
“This may not even make sense…”
Tangents are welcome here. Humanity is welcome here.
Outside of therapy, I’m a mom to two boys, which means I have a deep appreciation for both emotional complexity and complete chaos. I’m usually listening to an audiobook, mentally reorganizing a room in my house for absolutely no reason, or trying to justify buying another book while actively ignoring the stack I already own — and maintaining what is honestly a fairly committed relationship with coffee and chocolate.
And then there’s Cayenne — my guide dog and unofficial office manager — who occasionally contributes dramatic sighs, loud snoring, or deeply judgmental energy if she feels a session is interfering with her dinner schedule.
Professionally, I’m a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist serving clients in Montana, Arizona, and Idaho through telehealth sessions by phone or video. I work with adults and couples navigating anxiety, relationship dynamics, emotional overwhelm, communication struggles, self-understanding, and the complicated reality of being human.
At the end of the day, I believe therapy works best when people feel safe enough to be real. My goal is to create a space where clients feel understood not just clinically, but humanly — where insight meets real life, and meaningful change can begin from a place of honesty rather than shame.