Hi, I’m Lindy.
Narrative Therapist | Trauma-Informed | Soulful and Relational Guide

First and foremost, I’m a fellow traveler on this winding, beautiful, and often heartbreaking journey of life. As a deeply intuitive being, much of my work is with people who find themselves at a threshold: grieving someone or something they love, navigating a relationship that has changed shape, living through illness or caregiving, aging, deconstructing/reconstrucing and exploring identity, entering a new season of life, or simply realizing that the life they are living no longer fits in quite the same way.

Sometimes the old map stops working.

Therapy can become a place to sit honestly inside that uncertainty, not rushing toward resolution or treating you as a broken object to be fixed, but becoming curious about what has been, what is being lost, and what might slowly be emerging.

My own path has stretched between the golden aspens and crisp blue skies of the Rockies and the mossy forests and deep gray waters of the Pacific Northwest. These landscapes shape not only my love for beauty and reflection, but also the way I practice therapy: handcrafted, intentional, intuitive, and deeply relational.

I often describe myself as a “small batch” or “artisanal” counselor. I intentionally maintain a sustainable practice because I don't want the vulnerable work of therapy to feel like a conveyor belt. I want there to be room for collaboration, curiosity, careful listening, intuition, and respect for the mystery of another human life. I am passionate about blending the science of psychology with the sacred art of soul care.

Professionally, my path has taken me through very different corners of the human experience, from the fast-paced worlds of professional sports and entertainment, to professional years of working at a college and campus life, to a career in hospice, grief support, and spaces shaped by profound loss. I earned my MA in Counseling in Seattle in 2015, where I was formed in a way of thinking that holds psychology, spirituality, story, embodiment, culture, and relationship together as ways of understanding what it means to be human.

Over time, I have come to appreciate how rarely life fits into simple categories. Joy can exist alongside grief. Love alongside disappointment. Gratitude alongside longing. Sometimes healing asks us to make room for many things to be true at once. Pain and healing, grief and joy, are not opposites to be resolved, but companions we learn to honor in the journey.

In addition to my professional training, some of my deepest formation has come through my own story.

My life has included seasons shaped by chronic and acute illness, cancer, fertility and reproductive loss, caregiving, accompanying close people to end-of-life, grief, and unanticipated changes in the shape of family and home. These experiences have taught me something no textbook could fully explain: how disorienting it can be when the life we imagined is no longer the life in front of us.

I don't believe we need to have lived the same story for me to accompany you well. But I do believe there is a particular kind of knowing that comes from having stood in places where there was no quick solution, where the work was not to fix what was happening, but to grieve, adapt, listen deeply, make meaning, and slowly discover who we were becoming within it.

Those seasons have left their marks, both visible and unseen. I carry them not as evidence that suffering is somehow necessary or redemptive, but as reminders of what it means to be changed by a life we did not entirely choose. They have deepened my reverence for the ways grief and joy, pain and beauty, loss and becoming can coexist. Through the story of my life, I’ve learned that my deepest suffering and greatest purpose are intertwined… to make meaning from those spaces is my hope for my clients as well.

I have learned that healing does not always mean returning to who we were before. Sometimes healing asks us to become someone we could not yet have imagined.

Earlier in my career, I worked at a college community impacted by a mass shooting. Being alongside individuals and a community in the aftermath of collective trauma deepened my understanding that some experiences cannot simply be repaired or explained away. There are moments when presence matters more than answers.

That season strengthened a conviction that continues to shape my work today: people are not meant to carry unbearable things alone. Healing often begins in relationship, in being witnessed without judgment, accompanied without being rushed, and given enough safety to begin telling the truth about what something has cost us.

There are moments when presence matters more than answers.

That season strengthened a conviction that continues to shape my work today: people are not meant to carry unbearable things alone. Healing often begins in relationship, in being witnessed without judgment, accompanied without being rushed, and given enough safety to begin telling the truth about what something has cost us.

This relational foundation is at the heart of how I practice.

My approach to therapy is rooted in story, supported by attachment and psychodynamic theory, and shaped by a deep belief in the transformative power of relationship. I work with people navigating aging, grief, identity, spiritual wounds, illness, relationship changes, life transitions, burnout, and old narratives or relational patterns that no longer serve them.

I especially enjoy working with people who are thoughtful, sensitive, reflective, creative, or accustomed to carrying a great deal for others. Many of my clients are helpers, caregivers, parents, professionals, students, therapists, highly sensitive people, or those who appear quite capable on the outside while carrying a much more complicated inner world. You may have already done a great deal of thinking, reading, therapy, or self-reflection. You may understand why you are the way you are and still wonder why insight alone hasn't changed everything.

That is often where deeper relational work begins.

Together, we create enough room to encounter yourself more honestly: to understand the stories that formed you, grieve what has been lost, become curious about the ways you learned to protect yourself, and discover new ways of relating to yourself and the people you love.

Outside the therapy room, you’ll often find me exploring forests, dreaming about my next trip to the ocean, sipping jasmine green tea, listening to podcasts, or spending time with family, friends, and furry companions. I love whales, houseplants, warm socks, slow walks, and the ritual of tending to things that grow. I also occasionally challenge myself with a ½ marathon or triathlon.

There is something important to me about holding both: slowness and challenge, contemplation and movement, the inhale and the exhale of life.

At the heart of my work is a belief that healing is relational & that engaging our stories is a relational act of love, not just for ourselves but for the good of all. When we tend honestly to our own stories, something changes not only within us but in the relationships and communities around us. As I heal, you are invited to heal as well; our wellness is not individual but profoundly interconnected.

And perhaps most importantly, I believe we are never finished. I am continually shaped by my clients, my relationships, my own story, and this wild and precious life. I think of being human less as arriving somewhere and more as an ongoing practice of becoming.

If you find yourself standing at a threshold, grieving what was, questioning what comes next, or longing to feel more deeply at home in your own life, I would be honored to walk alongside you.