I’ve been resisting this.
Becoming more visible.
Where I let my words out into the open instead of keeping them tucked away in journals and quiet conversations. Until now, my online presence has been that of a faithful lurker, occasional liker, and, on rare occasion, a well-curated photo poster. With this entry, I’m stepping forward and it is so uncomfortable. But I have learned that the best rewards are at the end of something that feels impossible. I surrender to the work, the pull, the possibility.
Also, I’ve been gently nudged (read: lovingly elbowed in the ribs) by Kelsi Byers, the brilliant creative behind this website, to show up and offer a glimpse of what I do, how I serve, and who I am beneath the credentials. So this post, this page, is part of the surrender.
Writing as Practice
Before I get too deep into the rhythm of (ir)regular posting, I want to be honest about why I’m doing this in the first place.
There’s a desire to hone a new skill. Sure, my coworkers will tell you I write a mean email, and I managed to get through grad school by turning words into bold statements. But the truth is, I’m not a confident writer…yet. These early posts are here to grease the wheels. I’ve always wanted to spin tales and weave poems. But like anyone else, I have to begin with the unromantic, butt-in-chair kind of discipline that writers swear by.
And I know the world now asks its guides and artists to show up authentically, and online, if we want to be found. People want to know their mentors before they meet them—to click, swipe, and scroll through the inner workings of a person, privately.
Yes, I want to make a living doing work I believe in. But I also want my presence here to feel human. To reflect the same energy I bring to every session, every consultation, every meeting: grounded, warm, curious, and real. Not performative. Not polished (though I have rewritten this post so many times it’s laughable). Just present.
So, welcome to my messy playground. When words feel too sharp, I will probably lean on images. My background as a visual artist has always offered me a safer, more abstract way of expression. But I’m committing here and now, with you as my witness, to be bold(er).
Exposure and a Fear of Being Seen
Recently, I had a conversation with a good friend about personal archives. He was helping his 86-year-old aunt clear out some clutter and found a box of old journals and letters at the back of a closet, pages of her inner world, handwritten and raw. She wanted to burn them.
He was horrified. As a filmmaker, he sees them as belonging to future generations; stories meant to be told.
I completely understood; ready to light the match.
How terrifying to be seen in that way. The unpolished parts spilled out onto a page. Private cringe-prose meant for no one. Unfortunate poetry describing naïve and tender longing.
But there’s also something necessary about it. Something honest and kind about sharing our messy parts. And isn’t that exactly what recovery asks of us?
Broken Frames
Lately, I’ve been immersed in True and False Magic by Phil Stutz. You might recognize him as the Hollywood psychiatrist from the Netflix documentary Stutz. I came across the book through Elise Loehnen’s podcast Pulling the Thread (highly recommend the show, her episode with Stutz, and her Substack which is overall brilliant and provides chronicles of her experience of co-authoring the book). The ideas in this work have been tugging at something deep in me. So much so that I picked up a physical copy to accompany the ebook already in rotation. I have a feeling it will end up thoroughly underlined and dogeared.
One concept in the book feels particularly aligned with this chapter of my life. Not necessarily because it’s more profound than the others, but because it gives language to where I find myself now. Stutz calls it breaking the frame: the moment your inner scaffolding collapses. When the map you’ve used to navigate, the identity you’ve clung to, the story you’ve been telling yourself, falls away. You’re left exposed in the wild unknown. No certain plan. No guarantees. Just the raw, trembling beauty of pure potential.
It’s not unfamiliar terrain for me. In fact, this cycle of disintegration and renewal seems to be a pattern I return to, a sacred rhythm of becoming. Right now, I’m in the liminal stretch again. The frame has cracked, and the new shape hasn’t yet formed. According to Stutz, this in-between is not a void but a threshold. The portal. The birthplace of creativity, if you’re willing to stay.
At the end of 2024, I left my role as Executive Director of a treatment centre where I had worked for over five years. It wasn’t a single moment that tipped the scales; it was a slow, cellular knowing. The quiet ache of burnout. A growing dissonance between my values and the direction of the organization I once felt so aligned with. And beneath all that, a call. Not a polite tap on the shoulder, but a full body pull to turn my life inside out. To reimagine how I work and serve. To build a life that feels deeply infused with the very things I hold sacred; connection, creativity, integrity, and freedom.
Almost every part of me wants to slam the door. “Don’t do it!” “It’s not safe!” But there’s another, quieter voice that whispers, “This matters.” I have heard from my mentor, Rolf Gates, that the head screams and the heart whispers. And if recovery has taught me anything, it’s to listen to the whisper.
I’ve been on this personal recovery journey since 2011. Along the way, I’ve gathered tools, spiritual, clinical, strategic, intuitive, and I now use them to support others. The process always includes uncertainty. That’s the deal. But uncertainty, I’ve learned, is not an enemy. It’s creative. It’s revealing. It’s necessary for transformation. And I would never ask a client to do something I’m not doing myself.
Welcome…
If you’re here, maybe you’re searching for a guide, a consultant, a counsellor, someone who can meet you right where you are. And if that’s true, then you deserve more than just a list of credentials or a carefully chosen headshot. You deserve to see the humanness behind the CV. The lived experience. The questions I’m still asking. The honesty I bring into every conversation.
And, If you decide to stick around, you will probably witness me fumbling to figure out what my “outside voice” sounds like. You’ll see experiments. Reflections. Stories. Probably a few posts I will want to delete later. But for now, here’s a little about me, in point form. Because bite-sized is less intimidating, and because I’ve been told the internet loves a list.
- I think of myself as a “late bloomer,” having returned to education in my mid-forties to earn a Master of Health Administration in Community Care (Toronto Metropolitan University) and my certification as an Addictions Counsellor
- My undergrad was in Fine Arts (OCADU), which taught me how to see the world in abstract concepts.
- I’m a certified yoga and meditation teacher. I also use tarot as a tool for self-inquiry (not fortune-telling, don’t worry).
- I’ve led executive teams in addiction treatment spaces and I’ve sat on the floor with people in the rawest parts of their recovery.
- I believe laughter is sacred. So is silence.
- I love spreadsheets and incense equally.
- I’m sarcastic, spiritual, strategic, occasionally inappropriate, but always kind.
- I value emotional maturity, curiosity, and people who can admit when they’re wrong.
- The love of my life is a rescue hound named Sadie.
- I’m deeply committed to this work—and to you—if you choose to work with me.
This is me. Unpolished. In progress. But all in. Thanks for meeting me here