Strength should be something you can use, not a role you can never put down.
You already know the role. The strong one. The high-capacity one. The one everyone leans on without checking whether you still have floor left.
I work with you.
Fourteen years of clinical practice, most of them inside and around healthcare systems, taught me how quietly the people who look most solid can be running at redline. Burnout gets labeled depression. Moral injury gets called anxiety. The adult who grew up managing a difficult parent is told to "just set boundaries" — as if the word "just" ever belonged in that sentence.
My path here started larger: macro social work, large-scale disaster response, system-level operations. The Sandy response I worked was a ten-million-dollar operation that held maximum capacity for months, and I watched what that does to people — the narrowing, the vigilance, the strange ability to keep functioning long after functioning has become expensive. It happened to me too.
When I moved into clinical practice, I kept meeting high-capacity people whose burnout had been flattened into "depression" or "anxiety." Sometimes those labels fit. More often they missed the machinery underneath: impossible responsibility, moral conflict, learned threat-scanning, a family role that never ended. The question I learned to ask isn't "how do we make you productive again?" It's "what has your strength been required to carry — and what would change if it no longer had to carry everything?"
Collaborative, depth-oriented, boundaried. You talk, I talk back. Patterns get named plainly; people who aren't in the room don't get diagnosed. You won't have to perform competence here — and you won't have to explain why you didn't just leave, just quit, or just say no.
The boundaries are part of the care: no PHI by email, no between-session crisis line, no quiet drift from therapy into coaching. You should always know what this relationship is, and what it isn't.
I work in seven lanes: narcissistic abuse recovery · burnout & moral injury · high-functioning anxiety · complex PTSD · executive pressure & isolation · healthcare workers & clinicians · adult children of difficult parents. The NATC credential — Narcissistic Abuse Treatment Clinician — exists because half my caseload needed it.
Everything here is verifiable, because you shouldn't have to take a stranger's word for it:
Solo practice. Telehealth only, adults only, weekly. Out-of-network: sessions are $225, paid at time of service, with a monthly superbill — if your PPO plan carries out-of-network mental-health benefits, a real portion typically comes back. No insurance panel decides how we work or how long we take. That's the trade, stated up front.
Every word on this site is mine, and it follows the same floor I hold in session: long-form pieces run 2,500+ words with 15+ primary-source citations, and the Goldwater Rule holds throughout — patterns named, absent people never diagnosed. Including yours.
A free 20-minute consultation. Tell me what's happening and what you've already tried — most of my clients tried self-sufficiency first, for years, and it nearly worked. Ask whatever you need to ask. We'll decide together whether this is workable, and if I'm not the right fit, I'll say so and point you somewhere better.