After more than 40 years as a therapist, I have come to believe that some of life's most important questions cannot be solved simply by trying harder or thinking more positively.

Sometimes anxiety, grief, or a major life transition asks something deeper of us. It invites us to listen more closely—to what has been lost, to what no longer fits, and perhaps to what is trying to emerge.

My role is not to tell you who you should become. It is to create a thoughtful, compassionate, and collaborative space where we can be curious together about your experience and help you find your way forward.

I am especially drawn to working with people who find themselves asking questions that don't have easy answers: Who am I now? What matters to me at this point in my life? What do I want to carry forward—and what am I ready to leave behind?

I believe these questions deserve more than quick solutions. They deserve curiosity, patience, and a willingness to listen for what may be unfolding beneath the surface.

A little about me

Curiosity has been a constant thread throughout my life. I am an Enneagram Type 4 and an INFJ, and “Lifelong Learning” ranks among my highest VIA character strengths—which may help explain my fascination with depth psychology and the inner life. Even after more than four decades in this field, I continue to be fascinated by the mystery and complexity of what it means to be human.

Another constant in my life has been my love of animals and nature. I had a dog most of the years I was growing up, and my husband and I now share our lives with two dogs, Zeus and Layla, and a parakeet named Claudette.

About 20 years ago, I had the privilege of managing the Social and Therapeutic Services program for the SPCA of Texas—an experience that allowed me to bring together two things I care deeply about: animals and people.

If you would like more information about my practice, check out my Psychology Today profile. There you will find which insurances I accept, which modalities of therapy I favor, my fees, and pictures of my office.

You don't have to know exactly where you're going before you begin. Sometimes the next step becomes visible only when we give ourselves a place to stop, listen, and pay attention.