
My path into this work has been shaped by lived experience and years of working closely with people who have endured complex trauma.
I am a survivor of human trafficking, domestic violence, and other forms of high-impact trauma. That part of my story isn’t something I hide or feel ashamed of. I also don’t lead with it for effect. It simply informs how I listen, how I pace the work, and how I stay attentive to what’s happening in the room.
Professionally, I hold a Master’s degree in Social Work, a bachelor’s degree in Education and Curriculum Development, and I am a Brainspotting Consultant. For over a decade, I’ve worked as an advocate, consultant, and trainer with individuals and programs serving people impacted by human trafficking, spiritual abuse, and complex trauma.
People often describe our work together as steady and grounded. I’m not easily shocked, and I don’t rush people toward insight or resolution. I pay attention to what’s happening beneath the words and stay responsive to what shows up in the moment.
My work sits at the intersection of lived experience, professional training, and years of relational work alongside people who have endured significant harm.
I am a Certified Life Coach. In addition to working directly with individuals, I consult within anti-trafficking spaces, supporting programs, writing trauma-informed curriculum, and helping systems better understand how trauma impacts the people they serve.
I approach healing as a process that unfolds in relationship, guided by how a person’s nervous system responds over time.
You are not your past, nor are you defined by a diagnosis. You are unique, worthy of love, dignity, and respect.
Outside of work, my life is built around relationships. I love spending time with my husband and with friends who feel more like family than friends.
I train in jiu-jitsu, which has taught me a lot about presence, boundaries, and listening to the body in real time.
I also spend time playing with my Goldendoodle, who takes his commitment to joy very seriously.
Not the kind of hope that ignores pain or rushes healing, but the kind that grows slowly after everything familiar has been stripped away. Wild Hope doesn’t demand certainty or positivity. It shows up in small, honest ways, in moments of steadiness, in reclaimed choice, in realizing you’re still here and still capable of change.
That’s the kind of hope I trust. And it’s the kind I hold space for in this work.

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