I have always been interested in the stories we carry—the ones we tell others, the ones we tell ourselves, and the ones that change as we do.
I write about grief, identity, recovery, and becoming. About the lives we imagined for ourselves and the versions of ourselves we had to leave behind. About the strange and sometimes painful process of rebuilding when the life we thought we were going to have no longer exists.
My work moves between personal essay, poetry, cultural reflection, and literary exploration. I am drawn to the places where difficult experiences intersect with questions of meaning: Who are we after everything changes? What parts of ourselves survive? And how do we learn to build something new without erasing what came before?
Writing has become one of the ways I make sense of those questions—not by pretending to have all the answers, but by being willing to sit with the uncertainty.
I believe there is value in putting words to experiences that are difficult to name. Sometimes a story doesn't fix anything. Sometimes it simply reminds us that we are not the only person who has felt this way.
That is the kind of writing I hope to create.
Writing that makes room for complexity.
Writing that says the quiet things out loud.
Writing that leaves something behind.
When I'm not writing, I'm usually still collecting stories.
I'm endlessly curious about people—the ways we make sense of our experiences, the worlds we build around ourselves, and the things that shape who we become. I'm an avid reader and a lifelong learner, and I tend to fall down rabbit holes whenever something catches my attention.
I'm drawn to stories in all their forms: novels, poetry, film, television, games, mythology, and the conversations that happen between people. Fantasy in particular has always fascinated me for the way it can take something deeply human and place it somewhere entirely unexpected. Sometimes a fictional world gives us the distance we need to understand our own.
I'm also interested in the spaces where creativity, psychology, culture, and lived experience overlap. Much of what I write begins with a question I can't quite let go of.
What does it mean to survive something and still become someone beyond it?
What do we owe the versions of ourselves we had to leave behind?
How do stories help us understand one another?
I don't always know where those questions will lead. That's part of the reason I keep following them.