My Approach

I'm not going to pretend I only understand this work from the outside.

I know what it feels like when love cools into numbness. When numbness hardens into rage. When rage settles into something that feels permanent — a kind of despising you never imagined you were capable of, especially toward someone your children adore. I know the particular guilt of that. The way it sits in your chest when your kids run to your spouse and you're standing there feeling like a stranger in your own family.

I did the work. Ten years of it — slow, nonlinear, unglamorous weekly therapy. And what came out the other side is a marriage I wouldn't have recognized from the floor of the worst of it. We're genuinely close now. We're each other's first call. I don't say that to sell you a fairytale. I say it because I need you to know that I'm not asking you to hope for something I haven't seen with my own eyes.

What turned it wasn't a breakthrough moment. It was the decision — made separately, by two people — to stop waiting for the other person to change first. That radical inward turn is the hardest thing I'll ever ask of you. It's also the only thing that actually works.

In the room, I'm warm and I'm direct. I'm not here to referee or keep the peace. I want to see the real shape of your relationship — including the parts that are hard to show a stranger. You don't have to prove yourself here, or win me over to your side. You just have to be willing to be honest.

I can hold whatever you bring. That's not a performance — it's the result of doing this work on myself, and with couples who were just as far gone as you might feel right now.