My Story

For much of my life, I thought being strong meant figuring things out on my own. I was pretty good at it, too. Or so I thought!

After serving four years on active duty in the U.S. Navy, I became an entrepreneur and pursued my master's degree in counseling psychology so I could work with veterans experiencing PTSD.

But there was another reason I was drawn to psychology.

I thought I was broken.

Growing up, I often felt like I was too much. Too outspoken. Too independent. Too opinionated. Too willing to question things. Then as an adult, somehow the message became that I wasn't enough.

My time in the military included experiences that affected me in ways I wouldn't fully understand until decades later. Other experiences (and people) throughout my life taught me to question my instincts, my decisions, and sometimes even my own perception of what was happening.

So yes, I went to graduate school because I wanted to help veterans. But if I'm being completely transparent, I was also trying to understand myself. At the time, I thought that meant figuring out what was wrong with me.

Today, I understand that differently.

The career path I imagined didn't happen, but the mission remained. I became a counselor, coach, educator, and lifelong student of trauma, stress, change, and the connections between our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health.

Over time, that mission became MBSFit.

But it was my own life that taught me just how connected all of those pieces really are.

When my own body started asking questions

On March 22, 2018, my 48th birthday, I arrived at work crying and hyperventilating. I ended up in the emergency room and was told I was probably experiencing a panic attack.

That experience sent me looking more closely at chronic stress, the nervous system, and the connection between emotional and physical health.

And my body gave me plenty more to think about.

There was weight that wouldn't budge, belly fat, pain, headaches, anxiety, digestive issues, terrible sleep, and emotions that sometimes seemed to have a mind of their own.

Eat well or eat burgers and fries. Exercise hard five days a week or sit on my rear. Three to five pounds seemed to be about all my body was willing to negotiate.

I kept doing what we're told to do. Eat better. Exercise more. Manage your stress. Take care of yourself.

I was doing all those things.

And I still couldn't figure out why I didn't feel like myself.

And then life piled on

I had my dream job. It felt like I had finally landed where I was supposed to be. I committed to staying in a town I'd spent nearly 30 years running away from, put down roots, and bought my first home.

But experiences at work were bringing old military experiences back to the surface. My body was still doing things I couldn't explain. I wasn't sleeping well. My emotions felt unpredictable.

Then, a couple of months after buying my home, I unexpectedly lost my dream job.

Sometimes stuff happens.

And sometimes a whole lot of stuff happens at once.

So I did something that has never come naturally to me.

I asked for help.

I found a trauma therapist. I explored functional medicine. I became more open and vulnerable with my healthcare providers. I started actually feeling my emotions instead of trying to think my way through them.

Most importantly, I stopped believing I had to figure everything out by myself.

And then came two questions:

Have you ever considered PTSD?

How aware are you of postmenopause?

Mind blown.

No, I hadn't considered PTSD.

And postmenopause? Not nearly as aware as I thought I was.

As I started getting answers, things started making sense. A diagnosis didn't define me. It gave me information. It gave me context. It helped me look back at things I'd experienced and understand them differently.

And here's the irony.

I've spent much of my life studying people. I've been teaching about trauma and stress for years. I've helped other people through some really hard stuff.

And I still couldn't see everything happening in myself.

Sometimes we can't see our own experience clearly when we're standing in the middle of it.

Let me say that again.

Sometimes we can't see our own experience clearly when we're standing in the middle of it.

That realization is a big part of why I decided to open a private practice focused on whole-person wellness and mental health.

Because I know what it feels like to be standing in the middle of it. Feeling like you're drowning and there's no life preserver in sight.

Nobody prepared me for this...

What the hell is happening to me?

Am I crazy? Because I certainly FEEL crazy!

Does everyone around me think I'm crazy?

Why am I SO uncomfortable in my own skin?

And who in the heck is that person in the mirror?

Sound familiar?

Because those aren't hypothetical questions for me.

I've asked them.

I've wondered why my body seemed to be fighting me. I've wondered why I was suddenly so emotional. I've wondered why the things that used to work weren't working anymore. I've wondered how someone who knew so much about stress, trauma, health, and human behavior could feel so damn confused about my own experience.

That's why I wish I'd had years ago the kind of support I have around me now.

Not someone claiming to have every answer.

Someone who listened.

Someone who believed me when I said something didn't feel right.

Someone who asked better questions, looked beyond one symptom, helped me connect the pieces, and knew when someone else needed to be brought into the conversation.

That's the kind of person I want to be for you.

You don't have to come to me knowing whether what you're experiencing is menopause, trauma, stress, sleep, relationships, nutrition, mental health, aging, identity, purpose, or some messy combination of all of it.

You don't have to have the right words.

You can simply say:

“I don't feel like myself.”

I get it.

We'll start there.

We'll look at the whole person, not just the symptom screaming the loudest. What's happening in your body? Your life? Your relationships? Your thoughts and emotions? What have you been carrying? What have you tried? What do you need?

And maybe most importantly, what matters to you?

We'll figure out what we can work on together and when someone else needs to be part of your team.

I won't pretend to have every answer. I don't.

I won't promise to make every symptom disappear.

But I will listen. I'll ask questions. I'll take you seriously. I'll do my best to make sure you feel heard and seen. And I'll help you sort through the noise and connect the pieces so you can decide what comes next.

Because you are an individual.

You are not a diagnosis. You are not your symptoms, your weight, your age, your trauma, your hormones, your career, or all the roles you've spent years performing for everyone else.

And you certainly don't need another person handing you an impossible list of things you're supposed to do.

I don't have everything figured out either.

But I've learned to trust myself. I've learned to ask for help. I've learned to trust my intuition and create healthy boundaries. I've reinvented myself more times than I can count, and I'm still learning, changing, and reclaiming my own agency.

Maybe that's part of what allows me to sit with someone in the middle of their own messy, confusing chapter without needing to have all the answers for them.

Sometimes we just need someone who will sit with us long enough to understand.

Someone who believes us when we say:

“Something doesn't feel right.”

Someone who can help us sort through the noise, connect the pieces, and find a way forward that actually fits us.