hello. i'm

nicole

I help people answer one question:

Can this relationship give you

what you need?

You're allowed to want more.

You're allowed to get it, too.

Let's get real.

I worked hard to built a life that made a lot of sense on paper.

Pharmacy degree. Career. Marriage. House in the suburbs.

A perfectly stacked list of responsible choices.

And still, there was a quiet, persistent knowing:

this isn't it.

Not because I was ungrateful,

but because I was disappearing

inside a version of success that

didn't feel like mine.

My marriage looked good from the outside.

We weren't fighting.

We cared about each other.

We did the work.

Went to therapy together.

Had hard conversations.

Felt better than it ever had.

We really tried.

But I couldn't shake the quiet ache that

I wanted more - but it was the

I'm really scared to want more

kind of ache.

It felt selfish. Dramatic.

Like maybe I just needed to be

more patient.

More grateful.

Convince myself harder that it really, actually was enough for me.

But the truth was simpler.

I couldn't go back to being who I was when the relationship felt good.

My inner world was evolving faster than the relationship could stretch.

I had to leave.

And even when I knew

(like REALLY knew)

it was the right move...

It was still excruciating.

I cried.

I spiraled.

I doubted myself over and over.

I grieved the version of love I thought I was supposed to want.

But I never betrayed myself.

And that changed something in me.

Underneath the puffy eyes and exhaustion was this steady knowing.

I stayed with myself.

I picked me.

I wasn't willing to abandon the version of me who had finally come alive.

That version of me who didn't override her own truth?

She's the one who built this work.

And she's the one who will sit with you when you're in your own unraveling.

What I believe about relationships:

I believe romantic love makes you feel more like you - not less.

I believe real connection is built

through truth. The kind that allows disagreement without disconnection, and honesty without punishment.

I believe wanting more is not selfish.

It's self-honoring. And helps you remember what you're here for.

I believe safety is created in the moments of repair. In the messy human moments of "I f*cked that up, but I'm here, and I care, and I'm willing to try again."

I believe lasting love is made from people who keep coming back to the table.

Growing together.

Growing as individuals.

Feeling supported by each other even when it's uncomfortable.

I have one question for you.

Can this relationship give you

what you need?

Not what it used to give you.

Not what it gives you on the best days.

But right now. As you are.

And still, there was a quiet, persistent knowing:

this isn't it.

Not because I was ungrateful,

but because I was disappearing

inside a version of success that

didn't feel like mine.