Growing up in a rural Southern community taught me early about honesty, hard work, integrity, and the importance of showing up for others. Some of my earliest memories of work are from around eight years old, pulling weeds in peanut fields on other people’s farms. It wasn’t glamorous, but it taught me lessons that have stayed with me.
Privilege and abundance, at least in the traditional sense, were not part of my story. Sometimes hand-me-downs were my “new” clothes. Winter heat meant a fireplace and an electric heater in the bathroom. Braces had to wait until my twenties, when I could afford them myself.
And yet, I never felt poor in the things that mattered most. I had the love of my family and two wonderful parents who made room for dreams at our table. No dream was too big to imagine or too far away to pursue. School came easily to me, education opened doors, and I became the first in my family to graduate from college.
Life has also brought chapters I would never have chosen. Tragedy, trauma, being harmed, and being overlooked are pieces of my story. They have created defining moments and shaped who I am, but they do not get to define me. That distinction has become deeply important to both the person and therapist I am today.
My career has largely centered on serving people and communities who have too often been underserved, misunderstood, or overlooked. I genuinely love people. I love hearing their stories, discovering who they are beneath the roles they carry, and seeing the person rather than simply the behavior, symptoms, or diagnosis.
The many pieces of my story, my rural Southern roots, farming, faith, family, education, diverse communities, military life, hardship, and healing, have given me both resilience and perspective. They have also taught me something I carry into my work with others:
We may not get to choose every chapter that becomes part of our story, but we can have a voice in what we write next. All it takes is realizing we’re allowed to pick up the pen.
