A clinician shaped by lived experience
I became a speech-language pathologist because I have always believed in the transformative power of communication — that when a child finds their voice, something profound shifts not just for them, but for their entire family.
I began my career working in schools and private practice settings, where I developed a deep foundation in early childhood language, articulation, and the intersection of communication and learning. But it was the years that followed — the ones that didn't look like a traditional clinical career path — that shaped me most profoundly as a clinician.
Life took me in an unexpected direction. I became the parent of a child with complex medical and developmental needs — and I learned things in that role that no graduate program could have taught me. I learned what it feels like to sit across from a professional and need them to truly see you — not just your child's chart. I learned the exhaustion that lives in the bones of parents who are doing everything right and still feel like they're falling short. I learned that the families who need support most are often the ones least able to ask for it.
Those years of parenting and deepening my understanding of child development, nervous system regulation, and family systems didn't pause my clinical growth — they accelerated it in ways I am only beginning to fully understand. I return to clinical practice not as the SLP I was when I left, but as the SLP I was always meant to become.
Over the past six months I have been substitute teaching across early childhood, elementary, and special education classrooms — including resource rooms and self-contained settings — in West Michigan public schools. What I have gained from this experience is something I did not learn in graduate school, and something I did not fully understand even from years of working as a school SLP.
I now understand what a school day actually feels like from the inside. The pace of transitions. The sensory demands of a busy classroom during centers. The difference between how a child presents in a quiet therapy room and how that same child looks at 10am during a noisy morning meeting. The way a resource room pull-out feels to a child who just wants to stay with their class. These are not small details — they are the context in which every child we serve is spending six hours of their day.
This experience has profoundly shaped how I approach treatment. I now select therapy materials that directly connect to what a child is learning in their classroom — because generalization happens faster when therapy feels relevant to the child's real world. I understand grade-level curriculum expectations in a concrete, practical way that allows me to build goals that support not just communication, but academic success. And I understand that a behavior that looks concerning at school may reflect a nervous system that is simply overwhelmed by the environment — not a child who is struggling or defiant.
That distinction changes everything about how we support a child. And it is a distinction I can now bring to every conversation I have with the families and teachers I work with.
I continue to work in classrooms as my practice grows — because the learning never stops, and because staying connected to the school environment makes me a better clinician for every child I serve.
If you are a tired parent who just needs someone to be honest with you, take your concerns seriously, and walk alongside you without judgment — you have found the right place.
I am so glad you're here.