About Me

I didn't come to grief as an expert. I came to it the way most of us do, again and again, across many losses, each one arriving in its own way. Sudden. Prolonged. Expected. Devastating. Sometimes all of those at once. And somewhere alongside the pain came something I didn't expect: curiosity. A need to understand what grief asks of us, how it reshapes us, and how it can connect us more deeply with one another.

But somewhere along the way, I became the person who shows up. The one people call when the unthinkable happens. Personally and professionally, I've sat across from people in some of the hardest moments of their lives, and I've learned that what people need most isn't advice. It's witness.

Here is what I believe, and what I have lived: time does not heal grief. That is something we tell each other because we don't know what else to say, and the truth is harder to hold. The wound does not close on a schedule. It can still hurt exactly as much as the day it happened. What changes is that life continues anyway, and slowly, quietly, it grows and expands around the pain. The grief does not get smaller. You just become large enough to carry it.

That is not moving on. It is moving forward. And there is a profound difference between the two.

That's tragic optimism. Not toxic positivity. Not "everything happens for a reason." Just the clear-eyed conviction that grief and hope are not opposites, that love and loss are the same thing wearing different clothes, and that you do not have to choose between honoring what you lost and choosing the joys of life.

This is a space for honest conversations about all of it. No platitudes. No timelines. No performances of healing. Just truth, and the belief that you are not alone in this.