Neurodivergence
If you are neurodivergent — whether you have ADHD, autism, dyslexia, or simply experience the world differently from those around you — you deserve a space where you don’t have to mask, translate yourself, or fit into a one-size-fits-all approach to therapy. Many neurodivergent people come to therapy carrying years of feeling misunderstood, “too much,” or like something is fundamentally wrong with them — and often, traditional therapy has unintentionally reinforced those feelings. Here, we explore your strengths, the ways in which your brain works, and the beliefs you’ve developed about yourself — with curiosity rather than judgment. The goal is not to change who you are, but to help you understand yourself more deeply, shed the shame that was never yours to carry, and build a life that authentically fits you.
Insecure -Attachment
You know that sinking feeling when someone doesn’t reply and your mind starts spiraling into worst-case scenarios? Or the urge to pull away just when someone is getting too close — even when a part of you desperately wants connection? Maybe you’ve noticed yourself replaying conversations, bracing for rejection, or feeling somehow both starved for intimacy and terrified of it at the same time. These experiences aren’t random, and they aren’t evidence that something is wrong with you. They are the living, breathing remnants of early experiences where love felt conditional, inconsistent, just out of reach, or even traumatic. In our work together, we don’t just talk about these patterns — we re-engage with your young self who is likely still driving the bus and find ways in which the protectors you’ve developed to get your needs met are no likely no longer serving you. You get to metabolize these old experiences with a new lens and gradually and gently, the therapeutic relationship itself becomes a place where new experiences of connection become possible — where showing up honestly doesn’t lead to abandonment, and where needing something doesn’t make you too much. That experience, repeated over time, is what begins to shift things — not just in how you think about relationships, but in how safe connection actually feels in your body.
c-PTSD
Maybe you can’t point to one single event that explains why you feel the way you do. Instead, it’s more like a constant hum beneath the surface — a hypervigilance that never quite switches off, a deep exhaustion from always bracing for what comes next, or a numbness that has slowly crept in to protect you from feelings that once felt unbearable. Perhaps you find yourself reacting to present moments with an intensity that surprises even you — a flash of rage, a sudden shutdown, a wave of shame that seems to come from nowhere. Or maybe you’ve spent years highly functioning, achieving, holding it all together on the outside while feeling quietly disconnected from yourself on the inside. Complex trauma doesn’t usually come from one single moment — it comes from living, often for years, in environments where you didn’t feel safe, seen, or truly cared for. It lives in the nervous system, not just in memory. It shows up in the body before the mind has a chance to catch up. In our work together, we move slowly and with deep respect for the protective parts of you that worked so hard to get you here. We don’t chase the past or force open what isn’t ready. Instead, we build safety first — in this relationship, in your body, in the present moment — because healing from complex trauma isn’t about revisiting everything that happened. It’s about finally experiencing something different: that you are no longer alone in it, that your reactions make sense, and that who you are was never the problem.