Play.
Be Present.
Remember there is magic.
I’VE NEVER BEEN JUST ONE THING.
And I don’t expect you to be either.
I’m Shelley.
Nurse practitioner. Business owner. Sister. Auntie. Dog mom. Horse person. Lover of beautiful things, complicated humans, 25-cent words, and the occasional well-placed profanity.
I believe in science and intuition. Pragmatism and magic. Reinvention, curiosity, equity, humor… and questioning the rules we’ve inherited about who we’re supposed to be.
I like to say “this isn’t my third rodeo.”
I KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT REINVENTION.
My life has changed shape more than once.
Some of those changes were chosen. Others arrived without asking permission.
I have changed careers, built businesses, returned to parts of myself I had forgotten, and learned to trust ways of knowing that do not always fit neatly into a clinical framework.
My relationship with my body has changed, too.
For much of my life, I understood my body through the eyes of a culture that had very strong opinions about how much space a woman should take up. I spent years battling with my body... dieting, resisting, trying, judging, accepting, and trying again. Then I started a GLP-1, and for the first time in decades, the fight with my body began to quiet.
My body changed significantly, but the more interesting transformation was not simply the weight I lost. It was discovering what happened when so much energy was no longer being spent at war with myself. And yet changing my body did not instantly rewrite the stories I had carried inside it.
Then came breast cancer. A diagnosis. Surgery. Treatment. More surgery… A body altered again, this time in ways I had not chosen. Cancer has a spectacular way of blowing up the illusion that reinvention is always something we carefully curate. Sometimes it is the slow recognition that you are no longer who you were... and that the life around you has not quite caught up yet.
I began to notice the evidence everywhere. In my work. In what I wanted. In what I no longer tolerated. In the way I moved through the world, my work, my relationships, and in my closet.
I realized I had been holding onto clothes, roles, identities, and expectations that belonged to earlier versions of me. So I started paying attention.
What still felt true?
What had served its purpose?
What was I ready to release?
And what was already asking to come forward?
That curiosity has become one of the deepest threads in my work.
Not reinvention for reinvention’s sake. But recognizing when you have changed... and allowing the rest of your life to change with you.
DIFFERENT SPACES.
SAME CURIOSITY.
A hospital room, a psychiatric office, a field full of horses, and someone’s closet may seem like wildly different places to do meaningful work.
They are. And they aren’t.
I am endlessly interested in what happens when the old way no longer works.
What we hold onto. What we outgrow. What our bodies know. The stories we tell ourselves. The roles we perform. The things we sense before we have language for them.
And what becomes possible when we get curious enough to see something differently.
That thread runs through everything I do.
I CONTAIN MULTITUDES, TOO.
I understand what it is to move between worlds.
I can be a psychiatric provider discussing evidence-based medicine in the morning, standing in a field watching horses communicate without words in the afternoon, chatting about pants that technically fit versus pants that actually feel right over dinner.
None of those versions cancels out the others.
They inform one another.
My clinical work and this work are separate. This is not psychiatric treatment or therapy. But I don’t leave behind decades of experience understanding humans, bodies, behavior, grief, change, and resilience when I step into this space.
I bring the whole toolbox.
There are some fancy letters involved. My dad says I have more letters after my name than in my name…
RN, MSN, AG-ACNP-BC, PMHNP-BC
I’m a dual board-certified nurse practitioner with nearly two decades of clinical experience, with additional training across trauma-informed care, grief, coaching, nervous-system work, and human-equine interaction.
I’ve worked hard for those credentials, and I’m proud of every damn letter. But, and, also, some of the most important things I know didn’t come from a classroom.
They came from years of watching people navigate illness, grief, fear, joy, change, and uncertainty... and from having reinvented myself more than once. They came from learning how to listen for what is being said and what isn’t, when to reframe the question, when to sit quietly beside someone, and when to gently point toward possibility.