Stories That Matter

Growing up, I watched my family navigate the complexities of caring for my disabled sister. I saw the exhaustion in my mother's eyes. I saw the fear that came with not knowing what questions to ask. I saw the moments of dignity preserved, and the moments when it slipped through our fingers because we didn't know better.

My sister taught me that vulnerability is not weakness. She showed me that independence looks different for everyone, and that receiving care with grace is its own kind of strength.

That experience planted a seed that grew into everything I do now. Every family I work with, every conversation about incontinence or memory loss or end-of-life planning — it all connects back to those early years when I learned that caregiving is both the hardest and most sacred work we can do.

I became a gerontologist not just to help aging adults, but to support the families who love them. Because I know what it feels like to be in that position, wondering if you're doing enough, if you're doing it right, if there's a better way.

There usually is. And you don't have to figure it out alone.