I grew up too fast, too. I know what it costs. And I know what's possible on the other side.

“I came in feeling stuck and unsure where to even start. My friend recommended Eva, and I was skeptical... I already tried many things and didn't want another "program". I was burned out from work and my relationship. The work with Eva is not always easy. She is very direct and it's tough to dig through some of this old stuff. But Eva always tells me it takes courage to do the work our parents didn't do, and it's true. The work with Eva made me see things I avoided for many years and helped me be a better mother, wife, friend and person. I'm very grateful for Eva's calm, loving and clear presence that gave me the space to heal and grow.”
- M. L.

You know how they used to tell you that you're mature for your age? I was like that.

I was the responsible one. The one who read the room before she'd walked into it, who sensed the tension before anyone said a word, who held things together because someone had to, and the adults around me weren't.

My early life wasn't easy. I grew up in chaos — in a home where dysfunction was either celebrated, or I was told it was my job to tolerate it or take care of it. Abandonment, narcissistic abuse, witnessing addiction, mental illness, and suicide. Generations of family trauma, immigration, and survival.

I learned too young how to be the grown-up in a room full of actual adults.

I also learned that certainty felt safer than vulnerability. That having all the answers kept the chaos at bay. That if I was the most capable person in the room, nothing could touch me. It wasn't arrogance exactly — it was armor. And it worked, until it didn't.

I grew up. The younger part of me that remembers all the chaos didn't.

I overfunctioned my way through childhood, through a sixteen-year career in tech, through love. I gave too much, took on too much, demanded too much, and when it all got too heavy — I either pushed harder or exploded. Sometimes both. Sometimes I ran on empty quietly. Sometimes loudly.

I took it all into my relationships and friendships, too. And no matter how much love came back, it was never quite enough to make me feel safe. Because safety, I eventually learned, is an inside job.

I spent years in therapy feeling seen but not always helped. Understanding the pain but not knowing how to change it. I eventually found frameworks and approaches that actually moved things. I did the work. Not just once, but as an ongoing practice. I still do.

Today, in my mid-forties, I live a life that once felt impossible. A loving, stable relationship. A shared home with my husband and our rescued animals. Work that is full of meaning. I got here because I stopped being run by the part of me that adapted to simply survive.

That's what Terry Real means when he says, "Your recovery is your authority". I'm not someone who studied this from a distance. I lived it, worked through it, and kept going. That's what I bring into our work together.