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"Do you think you could ever forgive him?" When friends asked me this in the months after my sudden heartbreak, their voices carried something heavier than curiosity. They'd respond before I could answer: "I couldn't. Not after that. In fact, that's why I'll never open my heart to love again—I've been too deeply wounded by betrayal." Their words haunted me because I understood. I saw in their eyes what unprocessed heartbreak looks like years later: protective walls built so h

February is usually when I reflect on romantic love, self-love, or relationships—how we connect, repair, and soften toward one another. But this year, moving forward as usual felt incomplete. There’s a large elephant in the room and ignoring it didn’t feel honest. Many of us are living in a world that feels fractured—socially, emotionally, relationally. People are tired. Nervous systems are stretched thin. Conversations feel sharper. Certainty feels louder than discernment. B

The first full draft of my book is complete. I’m now in the quieter phase—listening for what wants to be clarified, strengthened, or distilled. At its heart, this book offers a soul-centered approach that pairs psychology with ancient wisdom to help you rise from heartbreak with clarity and power. I want to share a short excerpt from the introduction. As a clinical expert in trauma and relationships, I believed my training offered a measure of protection against devastation.

January often arrives carrying an unspoken demand: Do better. Be better. Fix yourself. But for more than two decades—both personally and professionally—I’ve written about why New Year’s resolutions so often fail. Not because people lack discipline or motivation, but because lasting change isn’t born from January pressure. It’s built slowly, through habits, compassion, and consistency over time. And honestly? Many of us are exhausted. So what if, instead of beginning the year