Welcome to WillowSage Counseling Therapy
Before we begin our work together, I want to share a part of my journey with you. I believe that healing is a deeply personal and transformative process, and I know firsthand what it means to face adversity, navigate trauma, and fight for a life that aligns with your true self.
The story below is not just about where I’ve been—it’s about the lessons I’ve learned, the challenges I’ve overcome, and the path that led me to becoming a therapist. My experiences in the military, my struggles with trauma, and my journey of self-discovery have all shaped the way I approach therapy today.
I provide a space where you can show up as your whole self, including the parts that may feel unseen, misunderstood, or dismissed. Whether you are healing from trauma, seeking deeper meaning, or exploring spirituality as part of your journey, I am here to support you.
This is my story, but more importantly, I hope it inspires you to believe in the possibility of your own healing. You are not alone, and together, we can create a path toward resilience, growth, and empowerment.
In 1995, I found myself in one of the darkest, most desolate places of my life. I was consumed by anger and fear, feelings that weren’t unfamiliar but still left me shaken to my core. I had been here before—staring into the same void—but this time, something inside me refused to repeat old patterns. I was determined to claw my way out and do things differently.
You see, I’ve never been one to follow the crowd. I’ve always chosen the road less traveled, defied the norms, and pushed back against the “shoulds” and expectations others tried to impose on me. As a kid, this defiance often landed me in trouble. It wasn’t enough to just go my own way—I felt the need to prove them all wrong. And if anyone tried to box me in, I wasn’t shy about telling them exactly where they could put their opinions.”
Fueled by anger, defiance, fear, and an unrelenting determination, I stood at a crossroads with almost no options in sight. But one thing was crystal clear: I was going to prove them wrong. I refused to be just another statistic—F@#K that. I could do better. I would do better. I had dreams, I had goals, and I wanted nothing more than to escape the chaos that had become my life.
By 1995, I had spent the last three years living with my brother, my mom, and her boyfriend—a situation that only added to the turmoil. Before that, my brother and I had been in foster care for three years. Those years in foster care, ironically enough, were the first time I was given the space to just be a child. For the first time, I was encouraged to play, to laugh, and to feel the carefree joy of being a kid, free from the heavy responsibilities that had burdened me for far too long. That taste of what life could be gave me the determination to find my way back to it—no matter what it took.”
A couple of years after returning to live with my mom, I found myself once again surrounded by the all-too-familiar chaos of addiction and abuse. My childhood had been a relentless cycle of neglect, trauma, and dysfunction. But foster care—though brief—had shown me a glimpse of something different. For the first time, I had experienced what it was like to live without the constant weight of fear and survival. I had learned that life could be better, and I desperately wanted that for myself.
Deep down, my gut was screaming at me: if I didn’t make a change, if I didn’t choose myself, I’d remain trapped in this cycle—or worse, I’d lose myself entirely to it. That moment of clarity was terrifying but undeniable. I knew it was up to me to break free, to rewrite my story, and to fight for the life I knew I deserved.”
It was then that I made the life-altering decision to join the United States Navy. I knew this was my way out—my chance to escape the chaos and build a better life. The Navy offered me the means and resources to chase my dreams and achieve my goals. Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to travel the world, get free college, and enjoy some adventure while cruising the ocean?
I have an enduring love for the military, my country, and my time in the Navy. I don’t regret enlisting for a second, and I would happily do it all over again. The Navy gave me more than I had ever hoped for: structure, discipline, opportunities, and experiences that I could never have imagined. But it also brought with it a harsh truth—I couldn’t outrun the abuse and toxicity I thought I had left behind. The very things I was trying to escape seemed to follow me, even here.
While I was serving my country, seeing the world, and creating incredible memories, I was still in pain. I still found myself a victim of others' actions and behaviors. As that realization set in, I became consumed with anger and a fierce determination to protect myself and others. I was on a mission to stop the abuse, to inspire change, and to make things better—not just for myself, but for everyone around me. I wanted to empower others to stand up for themselves and, most importantly, to change the world.
But somewhere along the way, I lost my way. After countless failed attempts to fix things, I was faced with a painful truth: I hadn’t achieved what I set out to do. In fact, I had become the very thing I despised. I was toxic. I was the bully. I had become the person I once proudly defied—the one I had told to go F@#k themselves so many years ago. That realization left me feeling ashamed, hollow, and deeply disappointed in myself.
I hadn’t truly escaped my past. Instead, I had been dragging the weight of my trauma and toxicity with me, carrying it across oceans and continents. No matter where I went, it came with me, festering and growing, until it consumed me entirely.
It was in this moment of reckoning that I began to reflect on who I truly wanted to be. I revisited those early dreams and goals—the ones that had once burned so brightly within me. I thought back to my time in foster care and the impact of those who had helped me during that period. I remembered the social worker and therapist who had changed my life in small but powerful ways. It was then that I decided to reclaim my purpose. I decided to get a degree in psychology and finally pursue the path I had envisioned so long ago: to heal, to help, and to create change—not just for myself, but for others.
Little did I know that in order to become a therapist, I would first have to face my own mental health struggles and confront my trauma. And let me tell you—holy cow—it was a lot. I wasn’t prepared for what opening that door would entail, and doing the work felt almost impossible at times. It didn’t help that I was still serving in the Navy, surrounded by toxic environments, potentially abusive relationships, and the pressure to hold it all together.
The first time I went to therapy, I was just a kid—maybe 12 or 13. I remember sitting there, not fully understanding why I was even there, what I was supposed to say, or how any of it was supposed to help. What I do remember is that one of my therapists taught me how to play my favorite game at the time: Uno. (By the way, if you ever want to challenge me to a game, I’m always down! Fair warning: I don’t lose often when it comes to card games.)
Fast forward to my time in the Navy, and I found myself returning to therapy. This time, it was because I didn’t know what else to do. I was desperate for change but unsure how to get there on my own. I knew I needed help, and I held onto the memory of how that social worker and therapist during my childhood had made a small but meaningful difference in my life. Maybe therapy could do the same for me now.
What I didn’t realize was how much therapy would demand of me. As I sat in those sessions, while also juggling college, I was asked—required, really—to open up and face the hard stuff: my feelings, my deeply ingrained unhealthy patterns, and the behaviors I had been avoiding for years. It was terrifying. And to be honest, sometimes I avoided it altogether. I lied, I ran, and there were times I just quit.
The truth is, it was easy to avoid doing the work. Being active duty meant there were things I couldn’t say or be honest about without risking serious consequences—trouble, or even discharge from the Navy. As much as I wanted to grow, to heal, and to change, fear held me back. I didn’t trust others. I didn’t feel safe. And I wasn’t ready to fully let go of the armor I had built around myself for so many years.
While serving in Naples, Italy, I found myself drawn to a spiritual path that felt both familiar and entirely new. As a child, I had always felt a deep connection to Mother Nature and was endlessly curious about the mysteries of life—what we now often refer to as "Woo Woo" or New Age beliefs and practices. But growing up, I wasn’t free to explore these questions. My curiosity often clashed with the strict religious beliefs of my parents and guardians, who insisted on unwavering alignment with what the church preached every Wednesday night and Sunday morning.
That all changed when I stumbled upon a small bookstore on base. There, I discovered books that seemed to speak directly to my soul. They answered the questions no one else was willing to, and they ignited a spark within me that had been waiting for years to be seen. I devoured every book I could find on spiritual topics, soaking in knowledge about the soul, purpose, and the deeper parts of myself I had long ignored.
Through this transformative time, I came to realize two important truths: I was not living in alignment with my values, and if I wanted to create a different life for myself, I would have to start doing things differently. For the first time, I felt empowered to embrace my authentic self, reconnect with the parts of me I loved, and begin the journey of living according to my own truth.
Once again, I returned to therapy. With my newfound connection to the Universe and a deeper understanding of my core self, I was determined to face the hurt, sit with the pain, do the work, and make meaningful changes in my life. And I did—but something still felt incomplete. I needed to feel safe and supported enough to share my whole self, including my spiritual beliefs and practices. Unfortunately, my experiences in therapy up to that point had left me feeling shamed and dismissed for embracing those beliefs, as though they were silly or invalid.
Still, I pushed forward, doing the work while hiding a vital part of who I was. I avoided talking about how my spirituality profoundly influenced my mental and emotional health, even though it played such a central role in my life. Therapy was helpful—it’s part of the reason I am who and where I am today—but not being able to openly share my spirituality created a divide within me. I felt misunderstood, disconnected, and ashamed of something that was so intrinsic to my being. By keeping this part of myself hidden, I missed opportunities for deeper healing and integration.
The exhaustion of hiding this part of me became overwhelming. My spirituality isn’t just a small aspect of who I am—it’s foundational. It shapes my daily life, my thoughts, my behaviors, and how I navigate the world. As a therapist now, I understand how critical it is to create a culturally competent and sensitive space for clients. This is what was missing in my own therapy journey. Without it, I couldn’t fully accept or connect with all parts of myself, and that loss was deeply felt.
As a licensed therapist practicing for the last 15 years, I’ve always strived to be culturally competent and sensitive. Yet, deep down, I knew there were ways I was falling short. In social work, we’re taught to acknowledge and incorporate a client’s religious or spiritual beliefs, but only if the client introduces the topic—and even then, it’s often limited to beliefs that align with mainstream societal norms. Over time, I realized that I had unknowingly created a space where clients with spiritual or religious practices outside the norm might not feel safe or welcomed to bring those parts of themselves into therapy.
This realization sparked both resentment and determination within me. As I often do, I became fiercely motivated to find like-minded therapists who shared my desire to challenge the status quo and create a more inclusive, accepting environment for clients and their beliefs. It took time, patience, and a lot of searching, but I eventually found my tribe—a group of therapists committed to shaking up the norms and redefining the therapeutic dialogue, both in sessions and in the field at large.
Through a year-long coaching program, I began to find confidence and clarity in owning my “Witchness” as a therapist. I learned how to embrace my unique spiritual beliefs and practices while encouraging others to do the same. The more I leaned into this authenticity, the more my clients opened up about their own beliefs. This vulnerability and shared openness allowed us to explore deeper levels of healing, often reaching places I’m not sure we would have without creating such a safe and inclusive space. By integrating traditional psychology with alternative interventions, our work became transformative in ways I hadn’t previously imagined.
And so, here I am today, taking a leap of faith—for myself and for you. I’m offering the opportunity to integrate your spiritual beliefs and practices into therapy, alongside traditional psychological methods and holistic healing approaches. I truly believe—and research supports—that combining these practices can deepen your growth, foster multidimensional healing, and reconnect you to yourself and your higher power.
Before you go, I’d like to leave you with something personal. There’s a song that holds deep meaning for me. It inspires the work I do and embodies my dream for every human being. I invite you to listen to it—not just passively, but with intention. As a wise friend and colleague once suggested to me, sing it to your inner child. Let it be a reminder of the healing and hope that’s always within reach.