
If you came looking for a sterile, clinical environment where a therapist just nods and asks, "And how does that make you feel?" for fifty minutes... you might be in the wrong place.
I became a therapist because I believe deeply in our capacity to rewrite our own stories, even when a chapter feels incredibly messy or heavy. But I also know that finding the right person to help you do that can feel exhausting and slightly awkward. My goal is to change that experience the moment you connect with me.
In our sessions, you can expect an environment that is both fun and relaxed—professional expertise combined with real-world understanding. I won't hit you with a bunch of heavy clinical jargon that makes your eyes glaze over. Instead, we’ll look at the actual psychology behind what’s going on and translate it into practical, everyday tools that actually make sense to you. Think of our time together as a focused, meaningful conversation where you get to set down the weight of having to have it all together.
We’ll work as a team to sort through the day-to-day noise and unexpected plot twists, helping you turn the page on old patterns so you can confidently write what comes next.
A Note on My Speech & My Mentality-
I am not a textbook therapist who looks at life’s hardest moments from a safe distance. I am a three-time tongue cancer survivor. My journey left me with a permanent speech disability and a prosthetic that I use for speaking.
In my world, my speech isn't a limitation—it’s a battle scar. It is proof of a fight I have won three times over. While it means my speech might sound a bit different than what you are used to, it functions beautifully for our work together.
I share this upfront because I don't believe in hiding our scars; I believe in celebrating them as proof of our resilience. Whether you are navigating the medical trenches of a diagnosis or processing the high-stakes impact of life on the front lines, Mended Hopes is a place where we drop the armor, look the heavy stuff in the eye, and rebuild together.



