I believe in the power of genuine connection, which is why I want to share parts of my story with you.

I'm a psychologist, researcher and educator- each role enriching how I understand and support others. Whether I'm holding space in therapy sessions, mentoring future therapists, or exploring the latest neuroscience research, I bring my whole self to this work (coffee cup usually in hand!).

Like many who've experienced war [or trauma], my life has a distinct "before" and "after" flavour. Before the war, I was described as carefree 5-year-old growing up in my tiny little country town in Bosnia. After? Life became more about survival, not standing out, rebuilding (multiple times), and eventually, growth- a path that would later lead me to understand trauma and healing not just professionally, but personally.

The weight of being different, of trying to blend in while carrying invisible wounds, really (I mean, reaaaaaaallllllyyyyyyy) shaped my teenage years. I learned early that sometimes safety means making yourself smaller, quieter - lessons that would take years to unlearn. At 16, I landed in Australia, carrying both my family's immigrant dreams and our unspoken traumas as the eldest daughter. Between navigating a new culture, mastering English, and helping my family adjust, those early years taught me about adaptation firsthand.

These weren't “just challenges” to overcome - they became the foundation of my understanding of the wide range of human experience, particularly the complexities of trauma, displacement, and finding belonging in a new land. This now informs every aspect of my work. I very much understand the weight of cultural expectations, the exhaustion of code-switching between worlds, and that peculiar feeling of being both nowhere and everywhere at home.

Life, having a rather dramatic flair, threw me another plot twist when I was diagnosed with severe rheumatoid arthritis. While I wouldn't have chosen this particular "learning experience" (thanks, universe!), it's given me unique insights into navigating chronic health challenges. Living with invisible illness has taught me about advocating for myself in medical systems, managing energy like it's a precious resource, and finding humour (sarcasm counts as humour, right?) even on the tough days. (I spill more tea about this journey in my upcoming book - stay tuned!)

When I'm not being a professional human-understander, you'll find me in my happy place: camping by a river, where the only notifications are bird calls and the most urgent task is keeping the campfire alive. At home, my cat Simba rules the roost (let's be honest, whose cat doesn't?), and I'm probably cradling an almond milk latte like it's liquid gold - because some stereotypes about psychologists and coffee are absolutely true!

My website's nature theme might make you think I'm always outdoors, but I'm equally in my element geeking out in a neuroscience lab or energetically sharing knowledge in a classroom (or Instagram!). Think of me as your friendly neighborhood brain scientist who can both explain neural pathways AND start a campfire (though preferably not at the same time).

The beauty of this journey - with all its unexpected turns, challenges, and yes, lots of tears - is how it's shaped my approach to psychology and human connection. I bring my whole self to this work: the scientist who loves data, the immigrant who understands cultural complexity, the chronic illness warrior who knows about the spoon theory, and the psychologist who believes in the power of both therapy and a good cup of coffee.

It's a unique mix, I know 😊

But hey, who said we had to fit in just one box?

You can follow my daily shenanigans and BTS (behind-the-scenes, if you're a millennial and had to google it like me 😊) on Instagram, where I share glimpses of both my professional world and personal adventures.

Want to embark on this journey together? Grab your metaphorical hiking boots (and maybe an actual coffee), and let's explore your path to growth and understanding.

Thanks for reading this far 😊

With Gratitude,

Selma