Walk with me

I’m an evidential medium and a spiritual channel. I’ve been doing this work for fifteen years, most of it here in Los Angeles, and honestly, the title still sounds heavier than the thing actually feels. So let me just talk to you the way I would if you were sitting across from me.

How I got here

Nothing in my resume predicted this. I was an elementary school teacher, and then I got a graduate degree in counseling because I wanted to understand how people learn and heal when their own experience feels too heavy to hold. That’s the classic training: rigorous, professional, careful. Mediums were never on my radar back then. I hadn’t formed a single opinion about them, no judgment to carry, just open. The training did hand me one tool I’d find funny later: I knew the clinical term for cold reading, those broad statements and narrowing questions that make a guess sound otherworldly. I could spot that trick from a mile away. I just never imagined the reason I’d need to.

The truth is, this started long before the degrees. When I was eighteen, two of my close friends died, suddenly and tragically. I wasn’t looking for signs, and I wasn’t trying to comfort myself with proof that they were still around. But things started happening that I now consider the nature of spirit. I’d wake at the same time every night. Radios would click on to songs that meant something to us. The phone would ring from their number. And underneath it all, the feeling that someone was right next to me, in a good way. It happened too many times, in too many ways, to be coincidence. I found it interesting, stayed skeptical, and didn’t buy it as otherworldly. It just was.

As the years went on it got more frequent and harder to explain away. People, circumstances, the timing of certain encounters became something I couldn’t rationalize, so I stopped trying and just enjoyed it. I didn’t make a fuss about it or tell anyone. It became normal. Somewhere in there, without knowing it, I was already beginning to connect with spirit, and it felt completely natural. No ghosts, no urgency to deliver anything to anyone. Counseling work made it more frequent, but I figured that was just what counselors get good at. This was before the internet had answers and long before social media, so I picked up a few books and let the curiosity lead.

Then I met my husband, and it became something I couldn’t deny. We traveled all the time, and I kept having these incredible encounters with strangers. That’s where I took my first steps in letting this connection out into the world. It was organic, never forced or expected. Somewhere in a conversation I’d share that I could feel someone they loved who had passed, and I’d give them what I was receiving. It wasn’t heavy. There was no stop the record moment. It moved through the conversation like it belonged there, and it was authentic and powerful for all of us. Healing, and grounded. Once it was out in the open, I could finally breathe with it.

That ran for about four years before I ever touched the word medium, and somewhere in there I got very intentional about it. I always asked permission, and I always led with a joke to disarm. I’m probably crazy, and I promise I’m not a witch or a fortune teller, but I’m feeling a loved one connected to you, and I’d love to share it if you’re open. If they said yes, what came through wasn’t weird stuff. It was their life: the energy they were buying into right then, and the next steps toward the evolution of their passions and relationships. Tangible, empowering, no predictions, no bullshit. Spirit guided exactly how to present it without crossing a personal boundary. The grace of it, the right moment for it, mattered to me as much as the information.

And here’s something you should know about me. I loved teaching. I loved counseling. And I still can’t resist a new road. At thirty-one I chased a childhood wish and got my license as a hair stylist, then traveled the world for a year instead. Wow. Just wow. We came back, packed up everything, and landed in Echo Park. I call that stretch my renaissance. I love to learn, but I love people more. Hair never happened. This did. Leaving a life behind has never scared me. I do it like an expert. But nothing gets left. It all comes with me. That’s not walking away. That’s letting go.

There was no lightning bolt with any of this. It was slower and stranger than that: a long unwinding of what I thought was real, until it was as real to me as the time on the clock. And when I looked at the people already wearing the title, with the jewelry and the guides and the posture of belonging, I didn’t see myself there. So I skipped the costume and kept going.

Thank god I didn’t go through any of it alone. My husband and I have been married twenty years, and he was right there for those first conversations with strangers, watching what came through and what it did for people. He held the truth of what he saw, plainly and honestly, and that was instrumental in me feeling empowered to step into this. Really, we did it together. We leaned on each other through a time when we both had to let go of our old beliefs about almost everything. What a gift, to do that with someone. My family and friends came along the same way: not through announcements, just by witnessing it for themselves, little by little, until it didn’t need a label.

I walked into my first real session still scared, holding nothing but a decision to trust it with everything I had. Best decision of my life. The teachers showed up after that, and they weren’t who I expected: spirit, my clients, my own life. What I do now is an authentic creation of everything I am, not a technique somebody handed me in a course. In 2021 our twin boys arrived. Before they came I was doing sessions seven days a week, and I needed a step back to integrate. Fatherhood gave me that and more. Living this work as a parent has refined my connection to what it’s actually about, and I’ve come back to it refreshed and all the way in. The classroom, the counseling, the fatherhood, this: one thread. It’s not a job to me. It’s who I am. If it were a job, I’d have quit during the hard parts.

Warming up to it

Here’s the part most bios like mine leave out. Early on, I went looking for kindred people doing this work. Not for validation, just to compare notes, swap experiences, maybe collaborate. Mostly what I found were people ready to sell me a very expensive class on how to become a medium. A formula. I’d spent seven years in college; I knew what real teaching looks like, and I knew a formula had no place in this. I just wanted to hang out and chat, and that didn’t seem to be on the menu. And a lot of what I met was spiritual ego: so certain, unwavering, truths set in stone. It turned me off, and I can see now that it was perfectly aligned. They had seen spirit since childhood, with their eyes. I never did. My story was radios and phone calls and a presence I couldn’t prove. Feeling that alone in my own experience was the invitation: dive deeper, and validate it for myself. Now it’s my favorite part of the story: nobody handed me this. It grew on its own.

My whole life, and all through becoming a professional, I believed the way you learn anything is to find a guide, someone who already knows how to do this. Being the small student felt comfortable, until it didn’t. What this asked of me instead was trust and patience, enough to gain access to the teacher within. So I embraced my own connection, and I questioned it the whole way. After every session, never during, I’d take it apart like a scientist: could that have been me making it up? Years in, I couldn’t explain it away. It held.

These days I’ve stopped trying to understand it with my mind. I trust it in my being, where it’s woven into everything, like realizing I have brown eyes. That’s not changing. I keep the questions around, because they’re what keep this alive and evolving instead of parked in the past. Curiosity was my ticket, not certainty. And no, I’m not looking back thinking, look at me now, a big boy on the spiritual block glowing with enlightenment. Nope. Just as curious, a little more grounded, no destination in sight. What I do is no more and no less incredible than a surgeon’s hands, a dancer’s focus, a musician’s ear.

The point of all this

Because I’ve watched, over and over, what happens when someone remembers they have their own access to their own knowing. If a session eases suffering by pointing you back to that, it did its job. Nothing new is being added. I’m reminding you of what was already there.

The most engaging part of this work is connecting people with their loved ones in spirit. I’m not here to convince you of anything about the afterlife, and nobody needs my cosmology. What I carry, I’ll share the way I’d share any experience, as mine. Fifteen years of sessions have left me with the sense that we are eternal, held in something I can only describe as a soul group: a symphony moving through us, not watching with eyes of judgment the way humans do, just refining itself toward how connected it all is. That’s the view from my seat, an example and not a map. Yours might sound nothing like it, and that’s the point. A session isn’t me handing you my conclusions. It’s room for your own experience to show up, in your own language, and you decide what it means.

And when a loved one comes through, they arrive with their unique signature. Their personality, their rhythm, the exact patterning of their voice, the physical memories, the quirks. Man, do they love their quirks. They’ll share your life together and what was learned inside that relationship like divine teachings, and they’ll bring through anything left unsaid, not to stir you up, but because it lets something release in you. Never judgment. Never fear. And no urgent messages, ever. Spirit doesn’t do urgency. What they love to give is a taste of the wellbeing they’re in, and the sense that there was never anything to fear. What that taste means, and what you build from it, is entirely yours. Your own pace, your own understanding, your own walk home. Trust.

People arrive from every direction, and they all arrive with the same thing: themselves. I’m not building followers, and I don’t need you to see the world the way I do. Every culture, every family, every person has their own way of understanding this life, and I’ll meet you inside yours. What I do isn’t new anyway. It’s ancient, and it lives in everyone.

Nothing new is being added.

In the room

With neutrality, balance, and love. That’s the discipline under all of it.

Neutral means I see patterns of energy, not verdicts. People ask me constantly: is he the one, should I leave, is she toxic? I get why they ask, and I won’t do it. Those are living, complicated, human things that deserve respect, and a cheap answer from me is me climbing into the director’s chair of your life. That chair is yours. I’ll pick up what’s already in motion, the near things, but I don’t sell ten-year forecasts, and I’m not going to tell you where you’re going when you die. Predictions like that take away the one thing this is actually about: your own focus, and the way your consciousness shapes the life around you.

And since I was trained to spot it, I’ll say it plainly: this is not cold reading. No broad statements, no fishing. The details either land or they don’t, and I’d rather they fail honestly than succeed sloppily. That’s what evidential means. And if one is enough, one is enough.

There’s a kind of honesty in this work that has nothing to do with making life prettier. I meet your experience exactly as it is, unfiltered and neutral, with no need to dress anything up so you feel better. Losing someone is its own process. There are a million ways to move through it, and every one of them is valid.

And I can tell you one thing directly, after fifteen years and thousands of sessions: not one spirit has ever come through saying they were not okay, or that they were stuck. Not once. I don’t say that to soothe you. I say it because it has simply never happened. What still humbles me is the precision underneath all of it: that any of this is happening at all.

I’m imperfect, with the full catalog of human stuff, and fifteen years of this hasn’t lifted me out of the mess. It’s given me humility, some grace, and a perspective that keeps evolving because it has to. In the room, none of it is heavy. I’m irreverent, I laugh a lot, and I’ll say the strange small detail out loud before I’ve worked out what it means. You tell me what you recognize. Underneath all of that there’s something quiet, and that’s the part doing the work.

Before you book

You don’t have to believe in any of this to sit down with me. Doubt doesn’t get in the way. Keep it.

You don’t have to prepare, explain your situation, or arrive in any particular state. Curious is reason enough. So is skeptical.

I’m not fixing anything about you. I’m not handing you a plan. I’m the one who steps out of the way.

What you tell me stays with me.

The longer answers live on the Common Questions page.