Love at the End of the World
My husband and I can’t quite agree on whose idea it was to open our marriage. He recalls a couples therapy session where he broached the subject. But I think it was me.
Life is wild, being a person is hard and everyone deserves support. I am a Mental Health Counselor who works with individuals (18+) and relationships (monogamous and non-monogamous). I am compassionate, nonjudgemental and curious. I see beauty and humor in the hard and I believe our struggles can help us find meaning, build connections and foster growth.
I am a cis, white, queer, non-monogamous, mother and wife living with a chosen family. I grew up in Seattle, went to college in New York City and spent a number of years working and living abroad. My lifelong passions are writing, social justice, mental health and storytelling. I spent my twenties and early thirties as a journalist reporting on international issues and social justice. At thirty-five I became a parent and my experience with postpartum depression served as a catalyst for my second career in mental health. I now work as a writer and media maker.
I am particularly influenced by Existential, Systems, Feminist, Attachment-Based and Trauma-Informed therapies. I am cis, white, queer, and currently able-bodied. I recognize the immense emotional and mental toll of racism, sexism, poverty, and other oppressions and I bring social justice, anti-oppression, and anti-racist values to my work with clients.
I am especially interested in working with people living through depression, anxiety, life changes, postpartum challenges, relationship struggles, adjustment to parenting, trauma and secondary trauma as well as people practicing polyamory and non-monogamy. But whoever you are and whatever you are experiencing, reach out. I want to hear from you.
Individuals: $160 per session
Relationships: $185 per session
My husband and I can’t quite agree on whose idea it was to open our marriage. He recalls a couples therapy session where he broached the subject. But I think it was me.
The sound of her voice is so nerdy and determined and yet still, somehow, eager to please. It cuts through the clattering morning and squeezes my chest with a swift brutal twist.
“Shoot your vagina up to the ceiling” one male doctor helpfully suggested as your head inched forward and back into my body again. Limp I stared into the bright white hospital light above me where I saw a vision of my own blood and guts floating on the ceiling. I learned later that this particular delivery room was famous for having a tinted convex light that reflected the labor in detail if you knew to look.
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