How I Work
I believe one of the most powerful things we can experience is the feeling of being deeply known and still welcomed.
So many of us carry parts of ourselves we have learned to hide—the thoughts we’re afraid to say out loud, patterns we don’t understand, experiences we haven’t known what to do with, or the quiet fear that something about us is simply too much, too strange, or somehow wrong.
I don’t believe there are bad parts of you. Even the patterns that create problems in our lives usually make sense when we understand where they came from, what they were trying to protect, and what they helped us survive.
That belief is at the heart of how I practice therapy.
I’m warm, curious, direct, and very human in the therapy room. I won’t sit silently across from you and occasionally ask, “How does that make you feel?” I will ask questions. I’ll notice patterns. I’ll tell you what I’m seeing. We’ll laugh sometimes. I may challenge you, and I’ll be willing to sit with you in the places that are painful, complicated, uncomfortable, or hard to put into words.
You can tell me the thought you’re ashamed of. You can be angry. You can swear. You can contradict yourself. You can love someone and be furious with them. You can know something intellectually and still feel something completely different. You don’t have to perform being a “good client,” and you don’t have to make your story make sense before you tell it to me.
I don’t believe the goal of therapy is to become a perfectly healed version of yourself who never feels anxious, gets triggered, makes mistakes, or falls into old patterns. We’re human. The goal isn’t to eliminate everything uncomfortable inside of you. It’s to understand yourself more deeply, develop a different relationship with the things you carry, and have more freedom to choose how you want to live.
Sometimes growth is less about becoming someone new and more about coming home to yourself—understanding your story, questioning what you’ve been taught, making room for the parts of yourself you’ve rejected, and learning to trust yourself as you build a life that feels like your own.
That’s what Kinship means to me.
Kinship is belonging—not because you’ve finally become acceptable, figured everything out, or gotten rid of the messy parts, but because you no longer have to exile pieces of yourself in order to belong.
Therapy gives us a chance to experience that kind of relationship with another person: to be known more fully and discover that we can still be connected. But ultimately, I hope the work becomes something you carry with you—a deeper sense of kinship with your own story, your own mind, and yourself.
My hope is that this can be a place where you don’t have to earn your belonging.
You already belong.