Alejandra Garcia

Driven by a deep passion to serve and uplift vulnerable communities, my journey toward becoming a counselor began long before I had the words to name it. Like many in this field, I was first drawn to the work while carrying wounds of my own—seeking healing and slowly recognizing a deep longing to walk alongside others on their paths to restoration.

Through my upbringing, involvement in community organizations, and active participation in church ministries, I witnessed firsthand the urgent need for accessible and compassionate mental health care—especially within underserved communities. These experiences opened my eyes to the gaps in support and the life-changing impact that a caring presence can have.

My own journey through pain, betrayal, and healing—carried and sustained by faith and the grace of God—has only deepened my sense of calling. As a bilingual, first-generation Latina, I feel a profound responsibility to serve communities like the one I came from, where mental health resources are often out of reach.

My identity is rooted in Christ, and it is from that place of grace, hope, and restoration that I seek to accompany others—offering the same compassion and support I once longed for.

There are times when it feels like your identity is built entirely on how much you can handle — how well you hold it all together, how much you give to others, how rarely you let anything slip. You’ve learned to define yourself by your strength, your resilience, your ability to manage everything and be everything to everyone. Somewhere along the way, being capable became who you are.

But inside, there’s a quiet exhaustion. You’re constantly pulled in different directions — tending to the needs of others, navigating complex relationships, and trying to show up fully, even when your own cup is empty. And when you even think about slowing down or choosing yourself, it feels like a betrayal of who you’re supposed to be, as if asking for help, or admitting you’re tired, makes you less worthy.

Life doesn’t let up. It’s relentless — one demand after another — and you don’t always recognize the version of yourself that’s left. You’re not at your best, but you’re still pushing through. It feels like you’re swimming upstream, barely keeping your head above water, while no one truly sees the effort it takes just to stay afloat.

It’s lonely, in a way that’s hard to put into words. You feel invisible, unacknowledged — like the world only values what you do, not who you are. And in the quiet moments, you find yourself asking: Who am I, really, underneath all the responsibility? What do I bring to this world, beyond what I can give or fix or manage?

More than anything, you long for relief. Not just rest, but recognition — the kind that says, you are more than your roles, more than your strength, more than what you carry. You are allowed to just be. You are allowed to be seen. And in God’s eyes, you already are. Even in your weariness, you are held.

Healing is much like construction. It begins with breaking down the walls we’ve built to protect ourselves, uncovering the wounds we’ve covered up, and revealing what we thought was too broken to fix. But we don’t have to do this alone. Together, we’ll go through the process of sorting through the mess, keeping what still holds value, and letting go of what no longer helps. We’ll make room for the difficult parts—the discomfort, the challenges—and support each other as we rebuild. We’ll work with honesty, patience, and understanding, gradually creating something stronger and more resilient. There’s meaning in the struggle and hope in the healing, and we can find both as we rebuild together.

Reaching for help can feel daunting, but it’s also one of the bravest things you can do for yourself. I know it’s not easy to take that first step, but you don’t have to carry this burden alone. Whether you’re beginning the path toward healing or you’re simply seeking a place to rest your thoughts, I’m here to support you through this journey.