Signed in as:
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Signed in as:
filler@godaddy.com
I set out to survive.
For most of my life, I was the one who held it all together. The capable one. The reliable one. The one who could handle it.
I could.
Until I couldn't.
Because that's what I'd learned to do.
That's what it meant to survive.
To be me.

...I was deep into graduate school writing a dissertation on philosophy of emotion, feminist epistemology, embodied identity.
On paper, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
In my body, I was unraveling.
Panic attacks started showing up. Loud, unmistakable ones. The first one hit in a movie theater.
I started taking anxiety medication for the first time in my life.
My nervous system was screaming.

I taught four to six classes per semester while trying to write my dissertation.
I had nearly a hundred thousand dollars in student loans. Seven years invested.
I was not a quitter.
Except my body was trying to tell me something I didn't yet know how to hear.
My therapist kept saying: You're giving your power away.
I understood those words cognitively. By that time, I'd taught feminist theory every semester for five years.

But I didn't understand them somatically.
I didn't know what it felt like in my body to stop overriding myself.
I didn't even know that was an option.
I'd been going full throttle my entire life.
I didn't know I had gears.
I didn't know I could shift.
I could choose.
Leaving graduate school without my PhD was devastating. I carried shame for years. It felt like failure.
But my body knew it was survival.

It didn't. Because I took the pattern with me.
I moved into healthcare IT. Rose quickly into leadership.
Suddenly I was managing six teams through a massive acquisition and consolidation.
At the same time, my son was in acute mental health crisis. My partner and her children were moving into our home. My calendar was layered with back-to-back meetings.
I removed Facebook Messenger and Instagram notifications from my phone because my son was messaging me in constant crisis from his special education classroom while I was in meetings with C-level leaders.
I didn't know how to stop accommodating.
I didn't know how to prioritize my own needs.
I was afraid that if I did — if I said no, if I pulled back — I wouldn't know how to exist.
Who would I be if I wasn't taking care of all the things that needed taking care of? How could I live in a world where I wasn't useful?
I'd be alone. Unneeded. Unwanted.
So I kept going.
Even as my body held what I wouldn't let myself feel.
...from additional responsibilities at work. Passion projects. Caretaking. Engagement. Support. Things I'd built, things that mattered to me.
At first, I was told NO. There's no one else.
I held the boundary anyway.
Eventually, I left that leadership role altogether. Not because I couldn't do it — I was GOOD at it. I left because the environment was unkind, exploitative, and incompatible with the life I was trying to save.
I was finally able to choose. For me. To stop giving my power away.
That boundary gave me back something basic, and profound:
Hydration. Bathroom breaks. Movement.
The ability to hear my own body before collapse.
Presence in my life.
THE HEALING DIDN'T ARRIVE ALL AT ONCE.
It came through years of therapy. Through somatic work that taught me to listen to my body instead of override it. Through self-compassion practices that replaced the relentless inner critic.
It came in small moments of choice:
Letting go of committees I'd created and led, simply because it wasn't healthy to hold them anymore.
Taking a lunchtime walk without justifying it.
Saying no without over-explaining.
Checking in with my body instead of my calendar.
Each small choice built a reserve of trust inside myself.
And slowly, something softened.
My shoulders dropped.
The urgency loosened its grip.
The inner critic quieted.
Joy returned — not loudly, not performatively — but gently.
I started talking sweetly to my dogs again.
I picked up knitting.
I colored.
I walked. Rambled, even.
I beamed with pride at our six-year-old.
I FELT safe. In my body.
Not because my life got easier.
Because I stopped abandoning myself to make others comfortable.
I know what it's like to be told "just rest more" when rest doesn't touch the EXHAUSTION.
I know what it's like to be offered productivity hacks when your nervous system is COLLAPSING.
I know what it's like to carry an INVISIBLE LOAD — one that's normalized, taken advantage of, unseen by the people who benefit from it most.
It's rooted in everything that helped me — and everything that was missing.
It's rooted in the understanding that burnout is not a personal failure. It's a nervous system issue living inside systems, roles, and expectations that require self-abandonment.
It's rooted in the belief that healing doesn't have to be fast, perfect, or performed.
And it's rooted in the deep conviction that capable women deserve support that meets them exactly where they are — without pressure, without judgment, without asking them to be more than human.

You don't need more discipline. You need regulation, safety, and permission.

Insight alone doesn't create change. Your nervous system needs to feel safe enough to let go.

You need support to stop abandoning yourself. There's a difference.

Without addressing the patterns, boundaries, and conditioning underneath, rest is just a temporary pause before you crash again.

The most profound shifts are often quiet. A breath that goes deeper. A boundary that holds. A moment when you choose yourself without guilt.

Not from your responsibilities. From the belief that your worth is tied to your output.
I facilitate healing from having lived it, studied it, practiced it, spending years learning how to come back to myself and help high-performing women come back to themselves.
Check out more of the life experiences that led me out of a lifetime of self-abandonment, into healing, and ultimately, into the work of helping other women heal.
I am standing here PRESENT.
With my own ongoing practice. With my own edges and tender places.
And with the deep understanding of what it actually takes for a woman like you to find her way back to herself.
If you're here, reading this, something in you is ready.
Not ready to have it all figured out.
Not ready to be fixed.
READY TO STOP DISAPPEARING.
READY TO COME HOME TO YOURSELF.
Let's talk.
Discovery calls are 30 minute, complementary calls to help you decide whether Align & Thrive is a good fit for you.
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