Like many stories, mine began in what seemed like an ordinary childhood—until epilepsy entered the picture and changed everything.

Growing up with epilepsy felt like being handed an unexpected map to unknown territory. I was different, and the world made sure I knew it. Kids noticed. Teachers worried. I often felt like I was living in a foreign country where I didn't speak the language.

At first, I tried to pretend the challenges weren't real. I wanted to be like everyone else, to blend in, to make the epilepsy disappear through sheer willpower.

But life had other plans. The bullying, the learning struggles, the feeling of being perpetually behind—these weren't punishments. They were teachers I hadn't asked for but desperately needed. Each setback whispered the same lesson: You are stronger than you know.

The moment I stopped fighting my difference and started embracing it marked the real beginning of my journey. I crossed from victim to student, from someone things happened to, to someone who could learn from what happened.

The road wasn't easy. Learning didn't come naturally—I had to fight twice as hard just to keep up. Some days felt like climbing a mountain in the dark. But in that darkness, I discovered something remarkable: my own resilience. Every challenge became a training ground. Every struggle taught me empathy. Every moment of feeling misunderstood showed me how to truly see others.

The deepest challenge came in the form of a burning question that haunted me: How do you know yourself when life keeps pulling you away from who you are? This wasn't just philosophical curiosity—it was survival. I needed to find my authentic self beneath all the labels, limitations, and others' expectations.

That question became my compass, pointing me toward psychology and ultimately to my calling as a healer. I realized that my struggles weren't obstacles to overcome—they were qualifications I was earning.

As a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in Florida and California, I began the journey back to my community—but now as someone who could offer what I had desperately needed: true understanding. I learned to blend evidence-based practices like EMDR, CBT, mindfulness, and relational therapy with something no textbook could teach—the lived experience of carrying invisible battles while appearing strong on the outside.

Today, I help clients navigate their own hero's journeys. I create spaces where people can be fully honest about their struggles—trauma, burnout, anxiety, major life transitions—while also being challenged to grow. Clients often tell me that therapy feels both safe and challenging with me, and that's intentional. Growth happens in that sweet spot between comfort and courage.

My approach honors a fundamental truth I learned in my darkest moments: healing isn't about erasing your past or pretending your struggles didn't happen. It's about integrating your story—

Every day, I have the privilege of witnessing other heroes begin or continue their journeys. Some are just hearing their call to adventure. Others are deep in their ordeal, wondering if they'll make it through. All of them remind me that we're not meant to travel alone, and that sometimes the greatest gift we can offer is simply saying: "I see you. I've been there. And you're going to make it."

Because healing isn't a destination—it's a journey of becoming who you were always meant to be.