Coming Home to Myself - Meet Our Co-Founder Carly

I’ve always been someone who feels deeply. Since I was a kid, I’ve been tuned in to the emotions in a room, the quiet things people carry, the stories just beneath the surface. My mom used to call me inquisitive, and she was right. I’ve always been curious about people, wanting to understand them, to help, to make things feel okay.

For much of my life, I believed it was my responsibility to anticipate other people’s needs before they even had to ask. I thought that was what it meant to be caring, to be helpful, to be “good.” If someone had to name what they needed from me, I felt like I’d failed somehow. I was the one who always said yes at work, even when I was stretched thin. Boundaries felt like something other people were allowed to have, not me.

In my family, I learned to take up less space. I kept my emotions to myself, believing that feeling deeply was something to do alone. Crying in front of others felt unbearable, even into adulthood. I became the person who could be there for others in their pain, but I rarely let anyone into mine.

Looking back, I see how often I would assess a person’s emotional capacity and, if I sensed it was low, I would shift my attention fully to them. I’d scan for cues, attune, accommodate, show up. In the process, I disappeared parts of myself without realizing it. I thought I was in control. I thought I was being supportive. But I was bypassing my own needs to keep connection.

It wasn’t until years into my own healing work that I came to understand this pattern for what it was. During a therapy session earlier this year, my therapist gently pointed out that when I override my nervous system to meet others’ needs, I’m actually in a state of dysregulation. That insight surprised me. I had always believed dysregulation looked like anger, overwhelm, or emotional outbursts. I didn’t realize that over-functioning for other people could be a trauma response too, as it was a stuck pattern of behaviour.

That realization shifted something in me. What I had long believed was compassion, in part, was a survival strategy. Not because the care wasn’t real, but because it was automatic. It came at the expense of my own needs and my own truth.

These parts of me were shaped by a lack of emotional attunement growing up. I learned to prioritize connection over authenticity, because when faced with that choice, children will always choose connection. It’s essential to survival. I became hypervigilant, constantly reading the room, molding myself into who I thought others needed me to be. I was the go-with-the-flow one, deeply attuned to others, but disconnected from myself.

Slowly, I’ve started coming home to myself.

Before becoming a mom, I studied psychology at York University. That was a meaningful chapter of my life. I found deep friendships, a sense of belonging, and people who truly saw me. It was the beginning of learning what it meant to feel emotionally safe.

At 19, I became pregnant with my son. That experience changed everything. It was transformative and full of growth. I was supported by social workers and mental health professionals who helped me find my way, and that made something very clear. I wanted to offer that same kind of steady, non-judgmental support to others.

I went on to complete my Bachelor of Social Work at Toronto Metropolitan University from 2013 to 2017, with a baby in tow. In 2020, during the height of the pandemic, I had my daughter. I then completed my Master of Social Work at the University of Toronto from 2021 to 2022, once again with a baby in tow. Parenting two children while studying and growing into myself wasn’t easy, but it shaped me into who I am today.

In the summer of 2022, I started my solo private practice. It felt like a meaningful step, something I had been moving toward for years and felt deeply aligned with purpose. A few months later, in the autumn of 2022, my father-in-law passed away unexpectedly. Our family was rocked by grief. I was still learning how to hold space for clients while holding deep grief at home with my family.

Then, in December 2023, I lost my Dad suddenly and without warning. My world turned upside down. Everything shifted. I was in the depths of grief while continuing to show up - for my kids, my partner, my clients, and for myself, in the ways I could. Those months forced me to sit with pain, with history, and with wounds that needed tending, both old and new.

What I’ve come to understand is that these experiences, as painful as they’ve been, shape how I show up now. Not from a place of theory, but from lived experience. I don’t try to rush people out of their pain. I’ve learned how to sit with them in the dark without trying to turn on the light too quickly. I show up more authentically now, not because everything is resolved, but because I know what it’s like to live in the mess and keep going anyway.

In early 2024, I realized that running a solo practice while navigating deep grief wasn’t what my nervous system needed. That’s when I talked with Sonya about joining forces. Both of us were feeling the weight of isolation and grief as mental health practitioners. We rented an office together, thinking we’d simply share the space. But something began to shift. There was synergy, creativity, and clarity. With a domain I had purchased and parked years before, we decided to start South Etobicoke Therapy.

We officially began the business in May 2024, unsure at first of what we were creating. With a little nudge from the universe, we realized we wanted to build a group practice and a community space for healing right here in the neighbourhood we both call home. The same community my Dad called home for 68 years, and his parents before him, who raised five children, after my Papa returned from World War II. Where my mom and her siblings grew up, while my grandpa drove for the TTC for over 40 years, and my grandma worked at the Good Year plant while raising four kids. It’s where my sister, brother, and I were raised, and where I’m now raising my own children.

This isn’t just a business to me. It’s deeply personal. It has roots. It has meaning. And I know it will continue to shape and evolve me. I feel grounded in this experience, and clearer about what matters to me now, in 2025, then I’ve ever felt before.

The grief is still there, woven into my story and something I will always carry. Each day, I’m growing around it and showing up in life the best I can. I feel strength, softness, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be human.

This is reflected in my work as a therapist. I try to create space that’s real. Where people don’t have to pretend. Where all parts are welcome. Where we go slow.