Choosing a career in social services has meant spending half my life listening—truly listening—to the stories of others. I have sat with people as they process loss, suffering, injustice, and the shock of how a single moment, a single choice, can change everything. I have witnessed the weight of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the pain of carrying consequences that ripple far beyond the moment they were born from.
It has been my choice to sit beside people in their darkest moments, to hold space for their stories, their fears, their grief. And in doing so, I’ve had the honor of witnessing something just as profound—their willingness to keep breathing. To keep working. To keep showing up for life, even when support feels distant, or solace is found in just one hour a week. Because pain, no matter how much community surrounds us, is isolating.
Trauma does not occur in a vacuum—it happens when there is too much, too soon; when stress is relentless and resources are scarce; when power and agency are stripped away. The nervous system, in its attempt to protect, can become stuck in cycles of fear, hypervigilance, or shutdown. It is not just the event itself, but the body’s experience of it—how it was processed, supported, or dismissed—that determines its impact.
This path has taught me to cherish the micro-moments—the serendipities, the unspoken connections, the quiet shifts where pain alchemizes into purpose. Triumph after trauma. The courage it takes to tell your story and to choose goodness anyway. And most importantly, my clients have proven to me that true strength is not in avoiding pain or suppressing emotions—it is in feeling it all and choosing what to learn from it.
Symptoms of trauma are not just reactions; they are messages from the body and mind, seeking resolution. I have seen firsthand how trauma can disrupt one's sense of self, create feelings of powerlessness, and pull a person away from the present moment. But I have also seen what happens when healing is given space. As Dr. Peter Levine says, “Trauma is a fact of life. It does not have to be a life sentence.”
I have witnessed suffering in nightmares—but also in the reality of those who wake up each day knowing their nightmare was never just a dream. And because of that, I have learned to embrace every good moment as gold, to see traffic as a chance to breathe, and to welcome misunderstandings as opportunities for deeper connection.
I have chosen to love life, not by denying pain, but by accepting that it is part of the human experience.
Because what you focus on grows.
What you resist persists.
And what you choose to believe becomes your reality.
Studying the magnificence of neuroscience, the mysteries of faith, and the power of embodied healing has only deepened my understanding of this work. The nervous system holds the key to our perception of reality—tying in patterns, shaping the themes we replay, and directing how we experience ourselves and others.
Recognizing these patterns, narrowing in on the silent undercurrents of another’s inner world, has honed my skills as a walking lie detector. Not because I seek to expose, but because I see the tension between what is spoken and what is truly felt. Because I have learned that admitting your truth—your fears, your needs, your pain—is the first step in unlocking your potential.
Therapy is a safe haven. A space where you can strengthen your wings once again.
And if you feel like the storm isn’t ending—like it’s only growing—then be the eye of it. Be the calm within the chaos. Hold steady in your perseverance. Anchor into your light, your gift, your passion. Pursue it, share it, and in doing so, you will contribute to the recalibration of this world—a world that is always, always capable of healing.