I'm a music therapist who helps women and neurodiverse individuals find themselves again. I know what that journey looks like, because I had to take it myself.

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Music was everything to me growing up. I was singing before I could read, wrote my own songs, competed at the state level, and was in three choirs in high school. It wasn't just a hobby, it was how I functioned. Looking back now, I can see what nobody saw then: I had undiagnosed ADHD, and music was how I regulated myself. It was my outlet, my anchor, my way of processing a world that often felt like too much. I just didn't have the language for it yet.

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Then college made music feel like work, motherhood made it feel like a distant memory, and eventually I just... stopped. I became a stay-at-home mom, poured everything into everyone else, and one day realized I had nothing left that was mine. My husband tried to describe me to someone and landed on: "She's a mom. She goes to church. She likes to work out."

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There was nothing about me in that description.

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COVID was the breaking point. Drowning in the chaos of homeschooling three kids with no outlet and no identity left, I picked up a book. In it, there was a character who was a music therapist. I'd never heard of it before. I Googled it at midnight, found out there was a program 45 minutes from my house, and reached out the next day, just to take a class or two, just to get out of the house.

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Within a week I'd auditioned and enrolled in seven courses.

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It changed everything. Not just as a career, but personally. Going through the program was the first time in years I'd done something purely for myself, and I was good at it. It lit me up in a way nothing had in a long time.

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Now I work with women who are where I was: overwhelmed, lost, and desperately needing something that feels like theirs again.

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