You google at two in the morning. You replay the doctor’s words while folding laundry. You wonder if it’s okay to cry when everyone is telling you to be strong. You’re filling out paperwork, meeting therapists, talking to teachers - and no one has asked how you’re doing.
to sit in a waiting room and be handed a diagnosis for your child that turns your world inside out.
I know what it's like...
On the inside you’re spinning.
On the outside you nod, you take the binder, you say thank you.
This space exists so you don’t have to pretend you’re fine.
So you can be honest about the grief, the guilt, the fear and still be seen as a loving parent. It also exists so teachers and administrators can understand what your family is actually walking through and meet you with empathy instead of checklists.
So you have somewhere to steady your hands before you start advocating.
When my daughter was born, I imagined play dates and first words and all the ordinary milestones parents dream about.
What I didn’t imagine was sitting across from a psychologist who played with her for twelve minutes and told me she would never speak, never know me, never live the life I pictured.
I went home and told myself to be grateful while feeling like my heart had been ripped out. For years, I smiled for my son while silently teaching my daughter sign language. I learned every law, every therapy, every service - but no one taught me how to breathe.
I left that office with more acronyms than answers.
They were given stacks of resources and zero space to process. They were told to advocate when they could barely think. They felt guilty for grieving and ashamed for feeling jealous of other parents’ “ordinary” problems. Teachers wanted to help but were overwhelmed and undertrained. Administrators cared but were tethered to policies instead of people.
I built this work because I don’t believe a diagnosis should end your life.
I believe it should begin a new kind of relationship - with your child, with your school, and maybe, most importantly, with yourself. I’m here to bridge the gaps between parents and professionals, to give words to the feelings no one talks about, and to model what regulated advocacy looks like. I go first, so you feel safe to follow.
As a therapist, I watched other families go through the same silent storm.
The parents who find me are fierce advocates and
They sit in IEP meetings trying to remember acronyms while swallowing back tears.
They scroll at night until their eyes burn, trying to numb the ache of another day spent fighting insurance and fielding questions from well‑meaning relatives.
They love their children with everything they have & still resent the life they didn’t get to live.
They feel guilty for feeling jealous when they see other kids on the playground.
They blame themselves for not catching it sooner.
deeply tired.
And they’re so busy holding everyone up that their own nervous system is shot.
I see the dads who bury themselves in work because they don’t know how to talk about grief. I see the siblings who feel forgotten. I see the marriages that fray under the weight of constant appointments.
I see the teachers who want to help but don’t know how to approach a parent who looks like they might break. I see the administrators who have to make decisions without understanding the human cost.
You're human.
If any of this sounds like you, you’re not dramatic or selfish.
And this is exactly who I created this work for.
*
Admitting that you’re jealous of other parents, angry at the system, or exhausted from being told to “be grateful” doesn’t make you a bad parent.
When you speak the hard thoughts out loud, something shifts. The tension eases. The shame lifts. You can finally breathe and see options where there were once only obstacles. You show up to meetings steadier because you’re no longer holding everything inside. You ask the teacher for help instead of avoiding their calls. You tell your partner what you need instead of resenting that they didn’t notice.
Believe it or not,
your honesty is your superpower.
Saying the hard thing isn’t weakness; it’s the path to regulation.
NEXT STEP
If you’re planning a conference, training, or podcast episode and want to bring this conversation to a wider audience, invite me to speak. I offer keynote talks, workshops for educators and administrators, and interviews that go beyond policy to the heart of what families are facing. Let’s make sure no one feels alone in this experience.
Speaking Engagements
If you’re craving personal support, I offer one‑on‑one coaching for a small number of families each season. In these sessions we walk through your specific challenges _ navigating IEPs, calming your nervous system, advocating without burning out _ and we do it together. It’s private and it’s rooted in both lived experience and clinical training.
1:1 Coaching
Inside you’ll find the story of my daughter’s diagnosis, the intrusive thoughts no one warns you about, and the mindset shifts that helped me thrive in every area of my life. It’s honest, short, and made to be read in the cracks of your day. It will give you the language you’ve been searching for and the permission to feel everything.
