It’s a strange time to be alive. The political climate in the United States has divided people in ways I never remember experiencing before. Lines have been drawn through families, friendships, communities. Things that once felt like differences of opinion now feel like fundamental breaks in values. For a long time, I tried to tolerate that. I told myself that love meant making room. That family meant endurance. That disagreement didn’t have to be disqualifying. Until one day

For a long time, I believed I had failed to protect my boundaries in my marriage. That I had allowed too much. That I hadn’t spoken up clearly or firmly enough. That I had somehow participated in my own erasure. But that story doesn’t quite hold. Inside the relationship, I didn’t really have boundaries. Not because I didn’t enforce them — but because I had never learned they were allowed to exist. As a child, I had no privacy. None. My phone calls were listened to. My belongi

There was a long stretch of my marriage where my husband traveled a lot for work. Conferences. Meetings. Professional things that existed in a world I was never part of. And I remember noticing something about myself that I didn’t quite know what to do with at the time. When he was getting ready to leave, I felt… relieved. Not dramatically. Not with fireworks or rebellion. Just a quiet sense of spaciousness opening up in my chest. Like I could breathe more easily for a few da

I've witnessed the remarkable turnaround in every aspect of my own life; relationships, finances, career, self-love, and I now guide clients