About Deanna: The Short Story

The Smith Kids, circa 1979: Garry, Matthew, Beva (on the bike), Deanna

Belonging: Lost and Found

People often land on this page curious about who I am and whether I can really “get” what they’re going through. I don’t know your story (yet), but I know what it’s like to struggle alone. This blog is a way to meet me as a person, not just a counsellor. We each have an imperfect and extraordinary story. Here’s a glimpse of mine, and a few takeaways I carry into our work. 

My life has been beautiful and messy, sometimes in the same week. I grew up fast, learned a lot the hard way, and then spent years unlearning what pain taught me. I’ve loved and lost, raised kids, started over, and built a good life from the inside out. 

Growing Up Fast

I was a kid who learned to read rooms before I could read books. There was love, and there was also neglect and abuse. Alcohol, depression and anger lived in our house, so feelings went underground. I kept the picture looking good on the outside while carrying the heavy things inside. My tiny sanctuaries were simple and sacred: a Walkman turned up just enough to soften the noise, roller skates, bike rides, and an imagination big enough to build a different world for an hour.

Grief, Grit, and Getting Honest

My older brother died when I was 14; he was 18. That loss split my family open. Like many teens facing pain bigger than words, I tried to disappear into music, friends, and anything that would numb the ache. I developed an eating disorder, rebelled, drank, and used drugs. I went quiet on the inside and loud on the outside. It worked until it didn’t.

Healing began when I admitted I needed help and learned to be patient with the process. I started to talk about what happened and accepted that I live with Complex PTSD. I learned what safety feels like in a body used to bracing and how to feel without drowning. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

Love Lessons

I married young, had two kids I adore, and eventually divorced. Since then I’ve had four other significant relationships, including seasons of step-parenting. Love has been a classroom. I saw how old coping patterns showed up in partnerships. I learned that people-pleasing isn’t love, that silence is not peace, and repair is a skill. I learned to listen when my body says no and to speak up when something matters. I learned that leaving can be loving, and so can staying when both people are willing to do the work.

Parenting gave me practice in what I missed as a kid: naming feelings, taking responsibility, apologizing, and trying again. I’m super proud of who my kids are. They’ve taught me patience, humility, and the magic of laughing at yourself when you take life too seriously.

Medicine, Mentors, and Mountains

There were turning points. At 28, I started my own business and learned I could build something solid. When my kids graduated high school, my role shifted and I turned toward myself in a deeper way. I traveled, spent time in the forest and by the ocean, worked with wise mentors, and kept therapy as a steady thread when anxiety tried to run the show. In carefully held spaces with psychedelics and plant medicines, I met teachers, not fixes, pointing me back to unconditional love, honesty, courage, and the slow work of integration.

I stayed with it, again and again: talk therapy, somatic therapy, equine therapy, EMDR, nature, journaling, movement, learning communication skills, seeing how attachment patterns shape adult love, choosing small repeatable practices over heroic sprints, and building self-trust a little at a time. I kept going, and things changed.

The Slow Work of Becoming

I used to think healing meant never feeling pain or struggling again. Now I think it means staying with yourself when pain or challenging moments show up. I see how the pain is different now: less frequent and less intense. The gifts I carry from the hard chapters are hard won and important: I can hold steady when the room gets real, listen for what is not being said, and stay curious when shame wants to shut things down. I’m nimble, creative and a little goofy sometimes. I make space where people can breathe, tell the truth, cry, swear, and also laugh. I believe in joy that does not require pretending. I believe every person is inherently good and lovable. 

Today I have a good life built on purpose; not perfect, but honest. I’m still learning and growing, and I expect that to be true as long as I’m here.

How I Work Now

If you work with me, expect something human and practical. We look at what gets in the way of connection and we slow down so your nervous system can tune in. We practice emotional regulation in the room so it becomes more than a concept. We explore boundaries, attachment, and the old stories still running the show. We pay attention to your body’s signals so you can respond rather than react. This is trauma-informed therapy with compassion and guidance you can count on. All of you is welcome here: the anxious, overwhelmed, ashamed, grieving, angry, tender, confused, numb, and even the funny parts.

I can’t promise easy. I can promise we’ll keep it real and move in a way that works for you. We’ll build skills you can use and practice them until your body learns a different way. Change doesn’t happen overnight. But through our work together, it is possible.

Feel free to explore more posts to learn more about me and how I work. Ready to meet? Hop on a free consult call to feel it out, or book a session and we’ll dive in.