Origin Story

I feel like we should start at the beginning.

But because I have ADHD, the beginning is actually the middle, and the middle is also somehow the end, and I'll probably feel inclined to go back even further so there's context, but actually I just realized you're wearing the same shirt you were wearing when we met ten years ago and wait... where's my coffee?

You get the idea.

So instead of starting at the beginning, let's start in the present. Let's ground ourselves in the here and now and just breathe for a minute.

Where was I?

Oh right. Root + Rise.

The idea for starting my own practice had been quietly percolating for years. It first took shape when my doctoral capstone mentor told me that consultation was her favorite expression of occupational therapy.

At the time, I understood what she meant.

Then I worked in early intervention and understood it differently.

Then I became a virtual school-based practitioner and understood it again.

Then I worked in geriatrics and understood it yet again.

The populations were wildly different. The settings were wildly different. The goals were wildly different.

But the foundation was always the same.

Go in. Learn about the environment. Learn about the people. Learn not only who they are, but what makes them who they are. Understand the routines, relationships, responsibilities, and expectations that shape their lives. Then use your training to help remove barriers and create opportunities for participation.

That's occupational therapy at its best.

The problem was that every time I thought about starting a private practice, I felt pressure to choose a lane.

Should I focus on pediatrics?

Feeding?

Handwriting?

Caregiver support?

Postpartum services?

Aging adults?

And because I am me—and because curiosity and human connection are the driving force behind almost everything I do—I couldn't imagine limiting myself to just one population.

I kept finding myself drawn back to the roots.

To the transition to parenthood and the brutal and beautiful reality of the fourth trimester.

To those first few weeks when you're somehow simultaneously experiencing the greatest joy and greatest exhaustion of your life.

Our postpartum doula was also a nurse, but more importantly, she was a literal angel on earth. She supported us through some of the most vulnerable days of our lives, and more than once I found myself thinking: What a gift this is.

And then another thought would follow.

What if occupational therapy had a place here too?

What if families had access to practical support around routines, feeding, sensory experiences, caregiving, recovery, and participation during one of life's biggest transitions?

Wouldn't that be a gift too?

And then there's the child development side of things.

I come from a family of Italian New Yorkers. Food was the center of our family culture growing up. Meals weren't just about nutrition—they were about connection, community, tradition, and belonging.

I've also seen firsthand how feeding challenges can ripple through an entire family system.

How stress shows up at the dinner table.

How routines become difficult.

How caregivers carry guilt and worry.

How something that seems so simple can become incredibly complicated.

And then there is the sandwich generation.

The people raising children while also beginning to care for aging parents and loved ones.

Maybe your aunt isn't moving in with you permanently, but she is coming for Thanksgiving. She uses a walker. There are stairs in your house. What's the safest way to get her inside? Will she be able to use your bathroom independently? Is there equipment you can borrow that would increase her safety, preserve her dignity, and make everyone feel more comfortable?

These are occupational therapy questions.

These are participation questions.

These are life questions.

And somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't actually have to choose.

The common thread had been there all along.

Whether I was supporting a new parent, a child, a caregiver, or an aging adult, I was doing the same thing: helping people participate more fully in the occupations that matter most.

Underneath the feeding concerns, the handwriting struggles, the postpartum overwhelm, and the caregiving challenges were the same foundational questions:

What matters to you?

What is getting in the way?

And how can we build the supports you need to thrive?

So, under a Sagittarius blood moon—or at least that's what my sisters called it and how I choose to remember it—I decided I didn't have to choose a single lane.

I just had to trust the thread.

And so, Root + Rise was born.