I’ve always been drawn to understanding people, how they break, how they heal, and how they make meaning out of what life hands them. I’ve been a writer for as long as I can remember, drawn early to storytelling as a way to explore the parts of ourselves we don’t always say out loud. That instinct eventually shaped both my creative work and my professional life.

My path led me into education, leadership, and trauma-informed work, where I’ve spent years supporting individuals navigating loss, transition, and identity. I’ve had the privilege of studying leadership and human-centered systems at Harvard Business, and later participating in the pilot of an emerging trauma therapy model at Stanford Medical. Those experiences deepened my belief that healing is rarely linear, and that people are far more complex than the frameworks we try to place them in.

Alongside my professional work, I’ve lived a full and imperfect life. I’m married to my high school sweetheart, a relationship that has evolved and endured through every version of who we’ve been. Together, we’ve raised two sons who are now adults, and watching them grow into themselves has been one of my greatest honors of my life. Family, love, and shared history quietly inform everything I write.

Grief has shaped me deeply. Loss has a way of rearranging your understanding of time, of love, of what matters. I’ve learned that grief is not something to be fixed or rushed through. It’s a reflection of love, of connection, of having cared deeply enough for someone that you are forever changed by their absence. Everyone carries it differently, and there is no single right way to survive it.

I write from my gut. My stories are rooted in lived experience, both my own and those I’ve walked alongside. I’m interested in the internal lives of people, the quiet moments, the contradictions, the places where strength and vulnerability exist at the same time. I don’t write to provide answers. I write to reflect something back to the reader, to remind them that their pain, their questions, and their resilience are not isolated.

Art, in all its forms, continues to inspire me. Creation is an act of vulnerability, a willingness to be seen without certainty of how you’ll be received. Exploration, for me, isn’t about distance or destination, but about connection, to others, to ideas, and to the parts of ourselves we’re still discovering.

At my core, I believe it’s okay to feel what you feel. I believe no one should carry hard things alone. And I believe there is meaning and purpose to be found in the space between who we were, who we are, and who we are still becoming.