If you’re awake at 2am, feeling heavy and alone, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.

A reach for survival against the unbridled forces of nature.

Welcome

If you’ve found yourself here in the quiet hours, it’s probably not by accident. Maybe your thoughts won’t switch off. Maybe your chest feels heavy. Maybe you typed something into Google that felt too big to say out loud.

Whatever brought you here, know this, you’re not alone, you’re not broken, and you don’t have to carry this by yourself.

The fact that you’ve landed here means you’ve already taken a step, even if it feels small, even if it feels uncertain. It means that some part of you is reaching for relief, for understanding, for something different than the weight you’ve been carrying. That matters. And it tells me you’re braver than you realise.

This is a space for the quiet ache, for the questions without easy answers, for the moments when you’re tired of being strong but scared to fall apart. Here, you don’t need to perform or explain everything perfectly. You don’t need to be “ready” for therapy. You just need to be here and that’s already enough.

My work is shaped not only by professional training, but also by my own lived experience of trauma. I know, in a very real way, what it feels like to carry pain that others can’t see, to feel both strong and fragile at the same time, and to wonder if things will ever feel lighter. That personal journey informs how I show up as a therapist, with empathy, patience, and deep respect for the courage it takes to reach out.

Because I’ve walked through my own healing, I don’t see people as problems to be fixed, but as humans who have found ways to survive. I understand how protective patterns can feel both necessary and exhausting, and I know how important it is to have a space where you don’t have to explain everything for someone to “get it.”

This is why I do this work, to offer the kind of presence I once needed myself. A space where your story is honoured, your pain is taken seriously, and your humanity is never in question.

And here’s something I want you to know, healing doesn’t have to be dramatic. It doesn’t have to look like constant progress or big breakthroughs. It can be messy, uneven, and still meaningful. Sometimes healing is simply finding a little more room to breathe, a little more gentleness with yourself, a little more hope that things can shift.

Asking for help is not weakness. It’s one of the bravest things you can do. And if you’re reading this at 2am, let this be your sign that you don’t have to do it all alone anymore.

Whether you’re anxious, burnt out, grieving, numb, or simply overwhelmed by life, you are welcome here. Whether your pain is loud or quiet, recent or long ago, named or unnamed, it matters. And you matter.

So take a breath. You’ve found your way here. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here too, ready to walk alongside you, at your pace, toward something lighter.