A little bit play, a little bit therapy, an ounce of alchemy: a lot of being human.

I have always been fascinated by people: how we move through the world, the stories we tell about ourselves, the ways we connect, and what happens when we are given enough psychological safety to try something new. Theater was one of my first laboratories for that curiosity. As an actor, artist, educator, and creative, I learned that bodies tell stories before words ever catch up, and that play can be serious business.

That curiosity eventually led me to clinical work. I became interested in what happens when people feel disconnected from themselves, their bodies, their communities, or their sense of possibility. Therapy gave me another kind of stage: a place where people can experiment, make meaning, find their footing, and sometimes discover that the thing they thought was broken is actually the part of them that kept them going.

From there, the leap into organizational work was not really a leap. Organizations are made of people. Workplaces have stories, bodies, power dynamics, relationships, conflict, culture, and yes, plenty of opportunities for us to forget that we are human. My work with leaders and organizations grew from the same question that has followed me from the theater into the therapy room: what helps people feel safe enough to become more fully themselves?

That question sits underneath much of what I research and write about today, particularly play, creativity, belonging, psychological well-being, trauma, and the fascinating ways our minds and bodies interact. I am endlessly curious about the spaces where disciplines overlap. Can movement help us access something words cannot? Can play change how we understand ourselves? Can creativity become a pathway toward healing, connection, or even better leadership? I am still asking. That is part of the fun.

I am also a proud geek, pop culture enthusiast, artist, researcher, and unapologetic lover of things that sparkle, unicorns included. Outside of work you will likely find me with my French bulldogs, dancing to 90s music, cooking or watching cooking shows, nerding out over Sailor Moon, or finding an excuse to talk about the latest thing I am curious about with friends, or anyone else willing to indulge me.

I do not think we ever really leave our past selves behind. The artist comes into the therapy room. The therapist comes into the boardroom. The researcher asks inconvenient questions. The geek reminds everyone that joy matters.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that is me: still playing, still learning, still asking better questions, and still believing that our greatest strength may be the parts of ourselves we were once taught to hide.