I help people navigate the most challenging aspects of life.
Grief. Transition. Exhaustion.
That quiet, disorienting question: “What now?”

I’ve been there.

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Before opening this practice, I worked in corporate HR as an organizational psychologist, while also serving as a part-time chaplain.
Very different worlds, but they taught me the same truth:
People are more than their résumés, roles, or diagnoses.

I’m a U.S.-trained psychologist living and practicing in Mexico.
This isn’t just where I work—it’s home.

I know what it means to live between cultures.
To carry both privilege and precarity.
To move through the world in a body that doesn’t always cooperate.

I come to this work as a wounded healer.
Not because I have the answers, but because I’ve sat with my own pain long enough to hold yours with care.

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I don’t see clients as problems to fix.
I see complexity. Resilience.
The sacred work of becoming.

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What It’s Like to Work With Me
No therapy voice.
No blank stare.
No pressure to tie everything up with a bow.

I’m direct, attentive, and steady.
You talk. I listen.

We work at your pace.

What I Believe

• You are more than what happened to you

• Mental health is real, not trendy

• Change is hard, especially alone

• Therapy should feel honest, not clinical

• You don’t need to be in crisis to ask for help

 

Who do I work with?​

• English-speaking adults living in México

• People who’ve been patriated (deported back) and find themselves in a place that’s “on the passport” but not in their heart. If you pásale and feel like “no sabés el español al cien” or te dicen “eres muy pocho,” estoy contigo

• Queer folks and allies

• Anyone untangling their history, habits, or identity

• And a note on language—
  I don’t offer therapy 100% in Spanish, yet. I’m a pocho. Raised speaking Spanish, we grew up with in the U.S., not always the kind spoken here in México. I’m committed to doing this right: practicing in supervised clinical spaces before offering full sessions in Spanish. Still, if you’re comfortable in Spanglish or open to my ever-evolving español, mi espacio también puede ser para ti.

 

IWIGA is a word from the Rarámuri language. It means breath.
It was one of the first words I spoke with my great-grandmother, the last 100% Rarámuri in our family. She called me Justo. My birth certificate says otherwise, but she knew who I was before I did. That name, her name for me, stayed.

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I’m Euro-Mexican. Whitewashed. Raised in the U.S. with more books than cattle.
But her language, Rarámuri, shaped how I listen, how I sit with grief, how I offer presence.

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In Rarámuri, there’s a blessing: “Iwériga.” It means “may the power of your soul reach another.”
That’s breath.
That’s healing.
That’s the work.

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IWIGA isn’t just a brand. It’s a memory.
It’s my nana’s voice.
It’s a promise to show up fully, even when it’s hard.
Especially when it’s hard. Because that’s where change begins.

This isn’t about reinventing yourself. It’s about coming back to who you already are, with less noise and more support.