Meet The Clinician

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I grew up in a small town in middle Tennessee with my older sister, who is three years ahead of me and was diagnosed early with Autism, ADHD, Dyslexia, Epilepsy, and an intellectual disability. From a young age, my life was shaped by proximity to neurodivergence—not as an abstract concept, but as a lived, daily reality.

Because my sister had limited verbal communication throughout our childhood, I often became her interpreter—translating her needs, preferences, and emotions to our parents and to the world around her. I learned early how systems work, where resources exist, and just as importantly, where they fail. I watched my sister be misunderstood, dismissed, and mistreated by peers. I also witnessed well-intentioned family members, professionals, and helpers attempt to intervene in ways that were confusing, invasive, and at times deeply traumatic.

Those early experiences quietly shaped how I see people, power, and care.

During my early years in college, a series of personal events pushed me to re-evaluate my path. I ultimately shifted my major from Biology to Psychology, driven by a growing desire to understand human behavior—not just clinically, but compassionately.

Over the years, I’ve worked in a variety of roles within the mental health field: administrative positions, residential counseling in group homes supporting individuals with severe mental illness, co-leading psychoeducational groups in community mental health settings, and serving as a personal assistant to an Autistic individual working toward independent daily living. I’ve also been part of interdisciplinary IDD/MH teams, providing consultation, crisis support, and neurodivergent-affirming education to individuals, families, and support systems.

This work has always felt natural to me. More than that—it energizes me.

Beyond my professional experience and my role as a sibling, the greatest contribution I bring to my work is my lived experience. After several years of practicing as a licensed therapist, I noticed something quietly unfolding: I didn’t just understand my high-masking clients—I recognized myself in them. Their exhaustion, their internal negotiations, their feeling of being “out of sync” with the world felt deeply familiar.

Despite knowing how often neurodivergent traits run in families, I never thought to question my own neurotype. I had always felt different from my peers, but difference alone didn’t feel like enough of a reason to look closer.

That changed in 2023, when I received a formal diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Level 1 (requiring support, without accompanying language or intellectual impairment). Through the evaluation process, I also learned that I am cognitively gifted, with an ability to process information quickly and efficiently.

It’s important to name that this diagnosis was rendered through the DSM-5-TR and the medical-pathological model—not the neurodiversity paradigm, which understands Autism as a natural variation in human neurotypes rather than a defect.

I am Autistic—not less than.
I am not inherently disabled because I am Autistic.
I am disabled by environments that were never designed with minds like mine in mind.