I’m a vegetable gardener. There’s something beautiful and humbling about planting seeds, waiting, nurturing, and seeing things bloom in their own time. That’s also how I see therapy: slow, intentional, and rooted in care.

I also genuinely love reality TV. It’s not just a guilty pleasure. I watch it because it tells us so much about human behavior. We see attachment wounds, identity crises, shame spirals, conflict styles, and emotional survival play out in real time. It’s messy, but so are we.

It means I’ve always been building my own blueprint. I had to ask myself early on: What does spirituality mean to me, beyond what I was taught? What does freedom look like when I also value deep community and loyalty? How can I honor tradition without erasing my autonomy? Living in between also sparked my commitment to joy as resistance. When you grow up in systems not made for you, carving out moments of joy, curiosity, and pleasure is a form of reclamation. It’s not shallow, it’s survival.

It influences everything. I don’t see therapy as just a clinical tool—it’s a liberation practice. That’s where psycholiberation theory comes in. We are not just individual brains walking around with problems. We are shaped by systems—colonialism, capitalism, racism, patriarchy—and those systems don’t disappear when we enter the therapy room. Psycholiberation asks: What have you internalized? Who told you it had to be this way? What parts of you have been buried or shamed? My work helps people unlearn the narratives that never belonged to them and rebuild something real.

I work with people who live in complexity. Second-generation immigrants. Neurodivergent folks. People navigating executive dysfunction, high-functioning burnout, identity confusion, and perfectionism. Often they’ve been holding it all together for years, until something breaks—and they land in therapy wondering, “Why can’t I do this anymore?”

The truth is, they’re not broken. They’ve just reached their threshold. And that’s often where the real work begins.

I’m structured and warm. I give homework. I like to keep sessions grounded in tools and intention, not just conversation. But I also bring humor, humanity, and realness. I don’t believe therapy has to be cold or clinical to be effective.

I draw from evidence-based practices—CBT, DBT, ACT, somatic tools, neuro-mapping—but I also let the relationship guide the work. The goal is not just insight. It’s integration.

As a difference, not a deficit. Many of my clients live in neurodivergent bodies—whether that’s ADHD, sensory sensitivity, executive dysfunction, OCD traits, or CPTSD. I understand those experiences both professionally and personally.

I believe neurodivergence is often a result of living in a world that asked you to perform instead of exist. It’s shaped by environment, trauma, culture, and survival. I emphasize neuroplasticity because our brains can change—but change doesn’t mean erasing who you are. It means building a life that supports the way your brain naturally works.

“When you know better, you do better.”
That’s what I come back to again and again. You’re not supposed to know everything already. You’re not supposed to have it all figured out. Therapy helps you learn, reflect, and build better tools. Once you have those, you get to make new choices.

Yes. James Baldwin said:
“It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I had been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on the earth as though I had a right to be here.” That quote lives in my bones. It captures the real work of therapy—reclaiming your right to exist, to feel, to take up space, to find joy. Not just to survive, but to thrive.