Many of the clients I work with identify as Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents — a term brought into wider awareness by clinical psychologist Lindsay C. Gibson in her groundbreaking book by the same name. Gibson gave language to something millions of people recognized but couldn't articulate: the lasting impact of growing up with a parent whose emotional limitations left you feeling unseen, confused, and quietly responsible for everyone else's feelings. If you've spent your adult life people-pleasing, doubting yourself, or struggling to trust that your own needs matter, you may be recognizing yourself here — and that recognition is often the first step toward healing.

I also specialize in working with survivors of narcissistic abuse — people who have endured relationships characterized by manipulation, gaslighting, and a steady erosion of their sense of reality. Whether the abuse occurred in your family of origin, a romantic partnership, or both, the impact is often profound: you may struggle to trust your own perceptions, feel hyper-vigilant in relationships, or carry a shame that isn't yours. Narcissistic abuse targets the attachment system directly, which is why healing requires more than understanding what happened — it requires rebuilding your relationship with yourself from the inside out.

While we often think of grief as mourning the death of a loved one, the losses that bring my clients to therapy are far more varied. I work with people navigating ambiguous grief — the mourning of someone who is still alive but no longer accessible, whether through estrangement, addiction, or emotional absence. I work with ambivalent grief — the complex, sometimes contradictory feelings that arise when your relationship with what you've lost was itself complicated. And I work with complicated grief — the kind that doesn't soften with time but instead takes root, making it difficult to move forward. One aspect of grief that rarely gets the attention it deserves is anxiety. Grief can fundamentally shake your sense of safety in the world, leaving you hyper-vigilant, restless, or bracing for the next loss — and when that anxiety goes unrecognized as part of the grieving process, it often goes untreated.

I work with people navigating the midlife passage — what Carl Jung considered one of the most significant psychological transitions of a person's life. Jung observed that the first half of life is devoted to building: an identity, a career, relationships, a place in the world. But somewhere around midlife, the psyche begins to demand something deeper. The roles and strategies that carried you this far start to feel hollow, and questions about meaning, purpose, and authenticity rise to the surface with an urgency that can't be ignored. Jung called the work of this second half of life individuation — the process of becoming who you truly are beneath the masks you've worn to survive. If you're feeling restless, disoriented, or caught between the life you've built and the one you sense is waiting, this isn't a crisis — it's your psyche asking you to go deeper. I help clients honor that call rather than rush past it.

As a queer therapist, I bring both professional expertise and lived experience to my work with LGBTQ+ clients. The mental health challenges facing our community are not born in a vacuum — they are shaped by systems that have historically pathologized, excluded, and endangered us, and by a current political climate that has made safety and visibility feel increasingly precarious. My LGBTQ+ clients navigate layers that are often invisible to those outside the community: the cumulative toll of minority stress, the grief of family rejection or conditional acceptance, the exhaustion of code-switching, and the particular complexity of forming secure attachment when the world has taught you that who you are is up for debate. Processing the impact of coming out, navigating identity within your family or culture, healing from religious trauma, and untold others, are issues I help clients navigate.