A Philosophy of Change
Change doesn’t happen in a vacuum. But it also doesn’t happen just because someone else tells us who we are or who we should be. Real change emerges in the in-between—in that fragile space where we begin to feel seen, and at the same time, start to see ourselves differently.
We all carry stories that feel etched in stone. The kind that live in the body as much as the mind—habits we can’t seem to break, names we gave ourselves long ago, ways of relating that feel so familiar they start to feel like truth. And those stories don’t just vanish because someone tells us we’re worthy or enough.
What begins to shift them is presence. A kind of shared attention that doesn’t rush, doesn’t fix, but gently invites something new to form. Sometimes we need someone else to help us see what we’ve been too close to for too long. Not to give us answers, but to help us stay in the questions. Someone who can sit with what’s tender or tangled without looking away.
The process isn’t linear. It doesn’t move in tidy steps. Some days it feels like regression. Some days it’s all stillness. But if we stay with it—if we keep showing up in small ways—change starts to take root. In the choices that feel just a little more spacious. In the pauses we didn’t used to take. In the courage to hold complexity without needing to resolve it right away.
It’s slow. It’s often uncomfortable. But it’s possible. Especially when we don’t try to do it alone.
The Way I Work
Therapy, for me, isn’t about techniques stacked on top of each other—it’s about relationship, presence, and the deeper rhythms that shape how we make contact with ourselves and the world. I draw from a range of models, but they’re not boxes to fit you into—they’re lenses, tools, ways of attuning more precisely to the unique landscape of your experience.
Relational Psychodynamic Work
Much of what shows up in therapy doesn’t need to be hunted down—it arrives in the room, in the space between us. The way you respond to me, the way I feel with you, the unspoken pulls and resistances—we pay attention to those. Because often, they echo something older: patterns that once helped you survive but may now be keeping you stuck. This kind of work is less about insight as an idea and more about experiencing yourself differently in real time, inside a relationship that’s built for that kind of discovery.
Attachment as a Map, Not a Sentence
The ways we learn to connect—or protect ourselves from connection—usually begin early, in relationships that taught us what to expect from closeness. We don’t approach this with blame, but with compassion for the ways you adapted. We’ll explore how those patterns continue to shape your relationships today, not to pathologize, but to ask: What actually fits for you now? And what might be possible when connection doesn’t come at the cost of yourself?
Neurodiversity-Affirming Practice
Your brain isn’t a problem to be solved. Whether you identify as neurodivergent, highly sensitive, or simply outside the mold of what the world expects, this work honors how you process, feel, and engage. So much harm comes from trying to force a life that wasn’t built for you to live well in. In therapy, we begin to untangle what’s truly yours from what was imposed—and from there, reclaim what supports your flourishing.
Existential Therapy
Some questions don’t have tidy answers—questions about meaning, freedom, death, isolation. Sometimes these show up loudly, in moments of crisis. Sometimes they hum in the background as a kind of unease. This work doesn’t chase certainty, but it can help you sit with the discomfort differently, ask more honest questions, and move toward a life that feels more aligned with what matters most to you.
EMDR
Some wounds don’t loosen their grip through talking alone. EMDR offers a different path—one that engages the body and nervous system directly. You don’t have to retell your trauma in detail to move through it. With the support of bilateral stimulation and present-moment safety, we work with your memories in a way that helps your system integrate them, loosening the charge and making space for something new.
Working with Dissociation and DID
When parts of you have had to take on different pieces of your life, healing can’t be rushed. Phase-oriented work with dissociation honors the wisdom of those parts and the pacing required to build trust, safety, and communication. We start with stabilization—not as a delay, but as the essential groundwork that allows deeper trauma processing to happen without re-traumatization. Integration, if it comes, isn’t forced. The aim is harmony, not collapse into sameness.
Lifespan Integration
Sometimes experiences get stuck—memories feel frozen, or like they don’t belong to the timeline of your life. Lifespan Integration offers a gentle way of helping those parts catch up to the present. By walking through your personal history while anchored in now, your nervous system begins to recognize that the past is no longer happening. It’s not about digging up everything—it’s about allowing what’s already surfaced to find its place in a broader story.
The Enneagram (Held Lightly)
The Enneagram can be a useful map, especially when you’re trying to understand the motivations beneath your behaviors—the core fears and longings that shape how you show up. But we hold it loosely. You are not your type. At its best, the Enneagram helps illuminate what’s been automatic and opens space for choice. It’s one of many tools, not a box
A Living Model of Personhood
I’ve long been drawn to the question of what makes us who we are—not just in a philosophical sense, but in the deeply personal, messy, embodied way that shows up in a therapy room, in a relationship, in the quiet moments we try to make sense of ourselves.
To me, personhood isn’t a fixed thing. It’s something dynamic, unfolding, shaped by tension and movement. There are forces in us that pull inward—toward stillness, reflection, containment. Others pull outward—toward growth, risk, connection. And beneath both is a kind of spaciousness, a generative quiet where something new can begin to take form.
This way of seeing isn’t about breaking the self into categories—it’s about honoring the interplay. Body, emotion, thought—they’re not separate domains but living threads in a single weave. The physical experience of the body holds memory, the emotional landscape carries history, and the mind is constantly patterning meaning from both. What we want, what we fear, how we imagine, how we relate—these emerge from that complex dance.
When I think about healing, I think about returning to that movement. Not pushing for change from the outside, but making space for something to shift inside. A kind of recalibration. A re-integration. When parts of us are fragmented, disowned, or overburdened, we can feel off-kilter—like we’re living beside ourselves instead of from within. Therapy, at its best, can help us reenter that inner ecology with curiosity and care.
This is the framework I carry into the work. It’s not a map with fixed coordinates, but a way of orienting. A way of noticing what’s at play beneath the surface—what’s missing, what’s overworking, what’s waiting to be named. And it keeps evolving, shaped by each conversation, each person, each discovery that unfolds in the room.
If this kind of thinking resonates with you, you can find a deeper dive into these ideas on my Reflections on Personhood page.