About meOn the way to an unmasked life
A few years ago, I was living what I thought was my dream.
I was a tenured university professor, an award-winning researcher, and an expert in helping social impact organizations and communities navigate crisis and transition.
I was also autistic.
While I now see my autism as a bright red thread that ties so much of my life together, I didn’t yet have the words to describe myself. From an early age, I just felt I was different from the people around me, but I couldn’t put a finger on why.
I survived by suppressing my intense interests, ignoring the overwhelm and confusion I sometimes felt in social situations, and being the most agreeable person who ever lived. I even earned a doctorate focusing on interpersonal and organizational communication so I could make sense of the relational confusion around me.
I’d built an excellent mask.
For a while, I thought I could wear it for the rest of my life.
Then, the system broke me.
After adopting my first son, the mask I had spent decades constructing no longer fit. I began to see how much of my life depended on performing a version of myself that others found acceptable—and how much that performance was costing me.
I also began to see how the institutions I trusted to support me were often incapable of supporting the humanity of the people inside them. Including my own.
And so I left.
Leaving academia was difficult. Building a life beyond it was even harder.
Because leaving academia also meant leaving behind an entire ecosystem: meaningful work that matched my interests, colleagues and students I cared about, familiar routines, clear markers of success, and a community that had shaped my identity for nearly three decades.
All of that was gone.
At first, I tried masked harder.
I read more books. Took more notes. Created more plans. Researched more possibilities. Thought more thoughts. (Full disclosure: I still do this!)
Some of that helped.
Much of it didn't.
I was in the wilderness, and to be honest, part of me is still there.
But along the way, I latched onto a few key things. I discovered coaching and somatic work. I dove deeply into trauma and loss. And I learned about my own and others’ neurodivergence.
And that taught me something.
But I really needed to do two kinds of work.
First, I needed to learn how to come home to myself.
I’d spent so many years performing competence, managing expectations, and adapting to environments that didn't fit that I had lost touch with my own needs, limits, strengths, and desires.
I needed to understand the impact of trauma, burnout, and chronic adaptation on my nervous system. I needed to grieve losses I had never fully acknowledged. I needed to learn how to inhabit my own life instead of merely surviving it.
But self-understanding alone wasn't enough.
I also had to build a life that could support who I am.
That meant finding work that aligned with my values and capacities. It meant learning new skills and capacities, building supportive relationships, using technology intentionally to design environments that helped me thrive.
In other words, I needed both inner grounding and outer scaffolding.
Most people in major transitions need both.
But neurodivergent adults require additional support and alternative approaches that match how they show up in the world.
My work changed.
Many of the people I work with are intelligent, thoughtful, deeply caring people who have spent years trying harder. They've collected insights, strategies, credentials, and responsibilities. They've often become exceptionally good at meeting the expectations of others.
Yet, beneath the surface, many neurodivergent people feel exhausted.
They wonder why life feels harder for them than it does for others. They question themselves constantly. They struggle to reconcile who they are with what the world seems to demand of them. They carry grief, confusion, and untapped possibility all at once.
But they don’t need someone to “fix” them.
They need a place where they can think clearly, tell the truth, be seen accurately, and begin building a life that actually fits.
My qualifications:
Ph.D. in interpersonal, organizational, and ethical communication
M.A. in corporate communication
Nine years as a tenured university professor of leadership communication (Duquesne University)
14 years as a professional communicator and leadership consultant to nonprofit organizations
Two books and dozens of articles on communication, ethics, and public life
Professional Certified Coach (ICF) with 1,000+ hours of experience
Accredited in body-oriented coaching and developmental trauma
Certified in coaching neurodivergent learners
My story shapes how I help.
I don't have all the answers.
I'm still learning. Still growing. Still discovering new things about myself.
But I have spent my life studying how people navigate identity, relationships, institutions, and change.
I have taught and mentored hundreds of students as they took the next step in their lives. I have supported dozens of executives, mid-level leaders, and individual contributors experiencing stress and burnout.
I have helped organizations and communities navigate crisis and transition.
And I have walked through my own profound season of loss, reconstruction, and rediscovery.
Today, my evolving approach to coaching helps neurodivergent adults exhausted by a world not built for them reconnect with themselves and contribute in ways only they can.
Not by becoming someone else.
Not by trying harder.
But by building a life sturdy enough to support who they already are.
