June 3, 2026
July 18 marks one year since everything changed.
I’ve gone back and forth about how much to say here. I’m not going to share every detail, but I do want to share what this past year has taught me about loss, healing, trust, and rebuilding.
A year ago, I was working at an organization I loved. I had been there for six years. I originally applied for a therapist role, but was brought into leadership instead. The founder who interviewed me saw something in me I wasn’t fully aware of yet, and I became the Clinical Director.
I wasn’t sure I was ready. I don’t think I ever fully felt ready. But I said yes anyway. And I’m still grateful I did. The work mattered to me. The women I worked with changed me in ways I still carry.
The job was hard. Really hard at times. But I believed in it. I believed in the people, and I believed I was where I was supposed to be.
And then, a year ago, everything shifted in a way I didn’t see coming.
People I trusted made choices that changed my sense of safety, belonging, and confidence. I don’t need to go into the details, the impact is what matters most. The grief wasn’t only about what happened. It was about the future I thought I was building suddenly not being there anymore.
After what felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me, I spent months in shock, shame, and confusion. I questioned myself constantly—my judgment, my leadership, even my sense of who and what I could trust.
At the same time, I was still trying to show up in a role that had started to feel unrecognizable. I could feel myself getting more and more depleted, even when I was trying to push through it.
I was living in a constant trauma response, even if I didn’t always have the language for it at the time.
Eventually, I started to understand something I didn’t want to accept: no amount of replaying or trying to make sense of it was going to change what had already happened. The only thing I could actually influence was what I did next.
So I chose myself. And I left.
That decision came with losses of its own. I lost the leadership team who had supported me through so much, and with that, I lost the most consistent relationships I had in my life for six years.
I never thought I would leave a place I loved without any real goodbye. I always imagined there would be some kind of closure—conversation, acknowledgment, maybe even a farewell party. But nobody said anything to me as I walked out the door for the last time. Another layer of grief.
I also never imagined I would end up building my private practice in this way. It was something I thought would come later, after more time and more personal and professional milestones. But building something rooted in my own values became part of how I started to heal.
Healing wasn’t one big shift. It was a series of small, ordinary choices I made while I was still hurting. Getting up. Going to therapy. Letting myself rest. Trying again the next day.
One of the hardest things I’ve learned is that healing from betrayal isn’t about becoming less trusting. It’s about becoming more discerning, while still staying open to connection.
At one point, someone told me I “chose love” a little too strongly. I’ve thought about that a lot. Maybe I did. But I still choose love—even for the people who hurt me. The difference now is that I don’t abandon myself in the process.
A year later, I still carry pieces of this experience with me. Some of it has softened. Some of it hasn’t yet. But I’m no longer measuring my life by what I lost (at least, I’m trying not to). I’m learning to measure it by what I’ve built, what I’ve come back to in myself, and who I am becoming.