Anxiety has a way of making you feel like your own mind is working against you. The worry loops, the what-ifs, the constant bracing for something to go wrong — it's exhausting. And the harder you try to think your way out of it, the more stuck you feel.

That's because anxiety isn't just a thought problem. It lives in the body, in old patterns, in a nervous system that learned to stay on high alert for good reasons — and hasn't gotten the memo that things have changed.

We'll work together to understand what's underneath your anxiety, not just manage its symptoms. That means exploring the roots, working with your nervous system directly through experiential approaches, and examining the deeper questions of control and powerlessness that anxiety almost always circles back to. The goal isn't a life without anxiety — it's a life where anxiety no longer calls the shots.

The relationship you have with your body is one of the most intimate relationships of your life — and for many people, it's also one of the most painful.

Body image struggles rarely live on the surface. Beneath the self-criticism, the comparison, the rituals and rules, there's almost always a story — about worth, about control, about what it means to take up space in the world. That's the work I'm interested in. Not just changing the thoughts, but understanding what they're protecting.

For some people, that struggle extends into a complicated relationship with food — restriction, bingeing, purging, or simply a life organized around eating in ways that feel out of control or all-consuming. Disordered eating is rarely about food. It's about what food is doing — managing emotions, creating safety, asserting control in a world that feels overwhelming.

I bring both clinical training and personal experience in recovery to this space, which means I understand how relentless and exhausting this particular battle can be — and how possible it is to find your way out. Together we'll work to untangle the stories you've absorbed about your body and your relationship with food, process the shame that keeps them in place, and build a relationship with yourself that doesn't depend on how you look or what you ate today.

Depression has a way of flattening everything — motivation, pleasure, connection, hope. It can feel like living behind glass, watching your life happen without quite being in it.

One of the things I've come to believe is that the opposite of depression isn't happiness — it's expression. When we're depressed, something in us goes quiet. Feelings get buried, words go unsaid, and the self shrinks. Experiential therapy is designed to gently reverse that process — not by forcing positivity, but by creating conditions where what's been lying dormant can finally surface and move.

This isn't about pushing you to feel better before you're ready. It's about getting underneath the weight, understanding what's there, and finding your way back to yourself — one small movement at a time.

What am I doing with my life? Does any of this actually matter? Is this it?

These questions don't mean something is wrong with you. They might mean something is waking up in you.

Existential dread — the kind that shows up at 2am, or in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday, or right after achieving something you worked years for — is one of the most disorienting human experiences. And it's one of the least talked about in therapy, because it doesn't fit neatly into a diagnosis or a treatment protocol.

This is work I genuinely love. Together we'll sit with the big questions rather than rushing past them — exploring what matters to you, what you're most afraid of, and what kind of life would feel worth showing up for. Not to arrive at tidy answers, but to cultivate a steady inner anchor that holds even when the questions don't resolve.

Because sometimes, they don't. And that's okay.

You're the one everyone counts on. The one who holds it all together, says yes when you mean no, and somehow finds a way to get it done — even when you're running on empty. From the outside it looks like competence. From the inside it feels like survival.

Burnout isn't just about doing too much. It's about what drives the doing — the belief that your worth is tied to your productivity, that slowing down is selfish, that if you don't do it nobody will. Those beliefs didn't come from nowhere, and they won't go away with a better morning routine or a bubble bath.

We'll dig into the roots of what keeps you over-functioning — the early experiences, the identities, the fears underneath the busyness — and work toward something more sustainable than just doing less. The goal isn't an empty calendar. It's a life where you can show up for others without disappearing from yourself.

Maybe you find yourself pulling away when things get too close. Or holding on too tight and wondering why people feel suffocated. Maybe you keep choosing the same kind of person, or the same kind of dynamic, no matter how hard you try not to. Attachment patterns have a way of running the show — quietly, persistently, and often completely below conscious awareness.

The good news is that these patterns aren't permanent. They were learned, which means they can be unlearned.

We'll look honestly at how your early experiences shaped the way you relate — to others and to yourself — and work experientially to build new ways of connecting that feel safer, more authentic, and more sustainable. This isn't just about communication skills or setting boundaries. It's about changing something deeper — the part of you that decides whether intimacy is safe.