This isn’t a crisis.
It’s a threshold.
That low hum of anxiety & the emptiness that makes you wonder, “Is this it?”
The way you sob uncontrollably while watching “Call the Midwife”, even though you chose not to have children.
The flashes of rage when people stumble past your rickety boundaries & scorch the scrap of peace you’ve cobbled together with scotch tape covered in cat hair.
This isn’t something to fix.
It’s something to face.
If you recognize yourself here, this is where we begin.
Midlife handed you a pair of Lululemons & what you actually need is a shovel
You’ve already done So. Much. Work. to get where you are right now.
The advanced degrees. That fifth certification program. Your self-help books which are so inundated with sticky tabs they look like they have teeth.
You’ve listened to the podcasts on mindfulness. Maybe you even set them to 2x speed like I do. And…smack dab in the middle of them there’s an advertisement for Botox. You’ve unloaded your history in therapy. And those red lipstick affirmations you wrote on the mirror? They never quite rubbed off, literally and figuratively.
None of it was wasted.
And none of it was enough.
Despite the shifts and growth, still…here you are.
Instead of that shovel, you’ve been working with a toothpick. Here‘s what’s stayed buried.
You didn’t mean to bury these things.
You were swept up in the relentless current of what the first half of life required: raising children, building careers, being reliable, and being everything to everyone.
That season asked for sacrifice.
But the second half asks for something else.
Because not creating—not bringing forth what is within you—eventually begins to feel destructive.
The Work of the Second Half
As Jungian analyst James Hollis writes, midlife is a time to “go back and pick up the bits and pieces that you left behind—gifts, talents, capacities, interests, and passions.”
But this isn’t about returning to an old life.
Once what was buried is brought to the surface, it cannot be placed back into the same story.
It becomes material.
You use it to write a new narrative—one shaped consciously, creatively, and on purpose.
A life that feels coherent, alive, and true.
How This Work Unfolds
Our work is grounded in Jungian philosophy, active imagination, dream work, and the practice of living symbolically.
Together, we unearth the personal myth you’ve been living (often unconsciously) and engage the one that is asking to be lived next.
I work from what Jung called the medial position: the space between conscious and unconscious, between who you’ve been and who you are becoming.
From here, patterns become visible.
Images begin to speak.
What has been circling finds a center.
Writing may emerge as part of the work (not as performance, but as a way the soul gives form to what it knows.) For some, it becomes central. For others, it is one vehicle among many.
What matters is not the medium.
What matters is that what is within you is brought forth.
We work together in longer containers, typically six to nine months, where continuity allows the work to deepen without being rushed.
It allows what’s been operating quietly to deepen, and shift without being rushed or forced.
There is structure here, but no formula. A container that holds the work while what needs to emerge finds its own rhythm.
I am in awe of the person I have become since working with Melanie. I just completed my last session and although deeply saddened as our time together has come to an end, I am walking into my new life with direction and a confidence I sorely lacked five months ago… In addition to fulfilling her commitment to me, through my writing, I was able to heal so many years of emotional suffering. Melanie’s authenticity, nurturing love and well-honed intuition provided her with a deep soul knowing of exactly what I needed and when I needed it. She simply took my lead and my hand and guided me with amazing gentleness to the most unexpected and healing results. I will be forever grateful to her and whatever entity brought us together.
This is Relational Work
I don’t apply formulas or move you through a preset timeline.
The work responds to what is alive.
Sometimes we stay with a dream.
Sometimes with a memory or an image that refuses to be rushed.
Sometimes writing becomes the way excavation and integration happens.
I offer structure when it’s needed and spaciousness when it’s needed. I reflect patterns you may not yet see and help distinguish between circling old stories and crossing into something new.
Over time, this work reshapes how you live, how you choose, how you hold your story, and how you imagine your future.
People notice they’re less reactive, less fragmented, less unsure of their own knowing.
Decisions take less energy.
Creative work becomes steadier, more honest, and less charged with self-doubt.
Why Work With Me?
Everyone has their story of when their not-enoughness began. Not smart enough…Not pretty enough…Not creative enough…
Not enough. Period.
In part, mine started when I came home from school in the 4th grade waving my report card in my stepfather’s face so hard that the miniature turtles on the white sleeve of my turtleneck were all a blur. All A’s and one B.
I was so proud.
He was not so proud. And mornings before school, he’d pull out our vinyl soundtrack from The Wizard of Oz and play “If I Only Had a Brain” every morning before I went to school.
Thirty years later, the grooves on that record were as deep as the Grand Canyon. Bachelor’s degree at 40 years old with a Valedictorian nomination. Masters degree at 47. Coach training after coach training and certification after certification.
And pretty enough? The sheer number of times per day that I would re-apply my foundation during lunch in high school—a secret behavior which continued well into my forties. There was no amount of Cover Girl that could ever be enough. And ladies, it was the eighties. I looked like a damned Oompa Loompa. And let me tell you, the stains never came out of those shirt collars. Not a good look.
And artistic enough? One piece of careless feedback from an MFA mentor canceled out all other praise of my writing and I went publicly silent for nine years. Instead, I threw myself into helping others to write their books; build their dreams; succeed in their businesses. It was a protective way to stay writing adjacent without the exposure and the criticism.
Then the losses came. My health after being diagnosed with hashimotos and rheumatoid arthritis. My father. My brother after he fell into his own campfire. Aunts. Uncles. Pets. Friends.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that grief, the things I’d given so much credence to had lost their meaning. My not-enoughness felt ridiculous against the backdrop of actual deaths and illness. No foundation (even Mac) was going to cover this up. No Botox. No Lululemons.
So I picked up the shovel.
I started doing shadow work. I explored my conditioning. I looked at the stories I’d inherited from my parents and my ancestors, but also the ones I’d written myself. I did the heavy, unglamorous work of stopping trying to fix myself according to what everyone else thought I should be.
I’m not 1,000 miles ahead of you.
I’m just far enough ahead to hold the lantern.
And what was I waiting for?
Permission slips?
I’ve experienced a deep sense of being witnessed in our time together as I work through healing aspects of my ‘story’ and of having a compassionate, intuitive, wise, inquisitive, and interested companion as I travel this journey. It is so deeply healing.
This Work Is For You If…
This Work Is NOT For You If:
Begin with a Threshold Conversation
This work begins with a conversation.
A Threshold Conversation is a 30-minute space to pause together—to listen for what’s stirring, to name what feels unfinished, and to discern whether this work is the right next step.
There is nothing to prepare.
Nothing to perform.
Clarity is not required.
Some people leave the conversation with a clearer relationship to what’s asking for attention. Some recognize they’re ready for a deeper container. Some simply name what has been quietly asking for attention.
All of those outcomes are welcome.
People don’t come to this work to become someone new.
They come because something in them is tired of being managed, postponed, or negotiated away.
This is the work of letting what’s already true begin to live forward.
If you feel the pull to reclaim what you buried and consciously shape the story that wants to be lived next, you can begin here.
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