Check Out Jenny Hannah’s Story

Indeed: Once upon a time, I grew up in a family of seven siblings in the city of Los Angeles, just above the Cahuenga Pass. We were nestled between the San Fernando Valley and Hollywood. My highly unconventional family and upbringing were shaped by trauma, resilience, and resourcefulness . in the early 1960s, my mother, who immigrated from a poverty stricken barrio of Manila, in the Philippines, brought emotional injuries, determination, and was bursting with fruitional energy. She had quite an impact on me and my work. Despite having less than a high school education, she was a trailblazer of sorts, owning several bars and nude dance clubs in East Hollywood and Long Beach from the 1960s through the 1990s. My father, a six foot tall, Oklahoma-born Dodgers fan and father of 6 children, died from gun violence while my mother was pregnant with me. Thus, I never met him. He was shot in a robbery at my parents’ bar. This loss shaped the contours of my early life, as I was born into a grieving family and shaken system. This deep felt grief, along with my birth, are inseparable experiences that later gave me an inherent connection with Tibetan Buddhism.

Growing up with an immigrant mother whose business ventures branched into so many areas, I felt many wounds from continually mothering myself. Yet, from her, I also learned resiliency, creativity, and the importance of connecting with people from all walks of life. Her bravery to dwell in the shadowy spaces — dark bars, sexual voyeurism, alcohol, and the “post 9-to-5 life” modeled a level of fearlessness and unapology. Though it came with its own messiness, these values became inspiration for navigating my relationships and the work I do today. I grew to be interested in the tension of transgression, and what richness might be growing there. Where are these “out casted” parts of ourselves and society? Many of them were at those bars, named “One for the Road,” and “Sinners,” with the gamblers, drinkers, moms, dads, plumbers, lawyers, thieves, lovers, mistresses, and who knows who else. My mom wasn’t often the soft-tender-mother-figure, but something in the way she lived was transmitted to me: that everyone has a place. And when there is a seat for all of you, therein lies the untamed and fertile ground of creativity. With this, comes chaos, and later (perhaps lifetimes later), celebration.

So that’s the pulse of how I came into this world, and I’ll have to share more, at another time, about my actual childhood— because I’d need to give trigger warnings at the start of most paragraphs.

Fast forward to my being 15 years old, when I left home, lied about my age in order to work full time (sorry government!), and began my journey attending Los Angeles Valley College. Here is where I became utterly enthralled by the power of imagery in photography, film, and visual arts. Intoxicated by the dark room of black and white photos, I was hooked by light and shadow and ravenously watched Fellini, Kurosawa, and whoever else my depressed teenage hands could grab at the nearest Blockbuster video. As a French major, I won a scholarship to study abroad in France, and it was in Lyon and Paris where my appreciation for creativity and meaning-making developed further through experiencing painting, sculpture, and performance. Given my whacky and turbulent upbringing and exposure to human complexity, I was naturally drawn to explore the depths of the psyche. Through some karmic, yet seemingly haphazard events, my curiosity about the mind and spirit expanded to yoga, along with various typology frameworks and archetypal understanding such as Ayurveda and the MBTI. Amidst this attempted self-societal discovery process, and after I turned twenty-four, my mother died from breast cancer. I was holding her hand while she took her last breath. The last words I said to her were “you can let go now,” as I held her right hand. Almost immediately following my mom’s passing, I discovered Buddhism, which profoundly shaped my understanding of healing and wholeness. The practice of meditation and yoga afforded me an honest relationship with myself, in ways that intellectual pursuits just couldn’t.

For over 17 years, Buddhist practice has been both a refuge and a guide. By turning toward suffering with curiosity and compassion, I’m just beginning to understand the transformative power of feelings. My own journey of working through loss and uncertainty dropped me into the depths of the human heart, a space that continues to inspire my art, yoga, and meditation practices. These practices naturally evolved into a holistic and integrative approach to therapy, one that weaves together the stability of meditation, the flexibility of yoga, and the symbolic and permeable language of art.

My work exists at the intersection of depth psychology, embodied movement, and mindfulness—a space where we can honor the complexities of life, meet ourselves with grace, and honor challenges as growth. Drawing on my heritage, my healing journey, and years of professional experience, I see therapy as a sacred and creative process. Each day, I am inspired by the courage of those I work with as they face their own minds, rediscover their resilience, connect to their inner wisdom, and move toward greater clarity and wholeness.

The road has been anything but smooth, but its texture is hard earned! My journey has been shaped by loss, strength, and an aspiration to be in touch with vulnerability. Losing my father before I was born left an absence that shaped my early sense of self and the way I understood relationships. Growing up as a child of an immigrant mother—who carried so much on her shoulders while running bars, restaurants, and naked lady clubs—taught me to learn from her choices. I can run pretty fast and accomplish as much as possible… But first….Rest.

As a therapist, I’ve also faced challenges in finding my own voice and path. Early in my career, I sometimes doubted if my unconventional background—a mix of art, yoga, and Buddhist practice—would resonate in a world that often favors more traditional approaches, trendy clinical therapies, and prestigious institutions. But over time, I realized that my lived experience, and being in touch with it, is my greatest strength.

In my adult years, my Buddhist community, which had been a profound refuge for me, went through a major #MeToo reckoning. The Shambhala sangha, which had been a spiritual home for so many, and where I had poured my energy into, ultimately fell apart under the weight of abuse allegations and broken trust. This was heartbreaking—not only because of the personal disillusionment but also because it deeply affected the lives of people I cared about. It forced me to grapple with questions of faith, power, racism, misogyny, and responsibility. It challenged me to integrate the wisdom of the teachings with the painful truths of the human condition. I lost many important friends and teachers and was forced to step into a deeper relationship with myself. I heard backlash comments like “the idea of a ‘you’ fundamentally doesn’t exist,” and all kinds of spiritual bypassing and defensive attacks. It was muddy and confusing. Because I could feel the injuries of dismissing and ignoring the relative world, I stayed with my community and left my teacher. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever faced, because I really needed him, and my path would have likely been less burdensome had I stayed in a relationship with him.

So the road hasn’t been smooth, but it HAS been REAL. And I’ve come to see that the cracks and bumps in the path are where the light glimmers in unique ways. The texture continues to be where I grow and truly come alive—-because it and my own perception, are constantly changing.

My work blends depth psychology, mindfulness, and creative expression to help people uncover and connect with their inner selves. Inspired by Carl Jung’s belief in the psyche’s innate drive for healing and wholeness, I guide clients in exploring their unconscious—through dreams, imagination, and reflection—while integrating practices like mindfulness and embodied movement to foster a deeper connection to the present moment.

I specialize in working with artists and children who may be navigating trauma, or trying to find deeper meaning and purpose in their lives. I see my work as mid-wifery of the heart— processing pain, building resilience, and finding strength in one’s healing journey. I have the privilege of working with visual artists, writers, musicians, actors, and filmmakers—creative individuals who often bring a unique sensitivity and depth to their personal growth. Without romanticising suffering, I do believe that creativity and trauma often intertwine. I feel called to  help clients navigate blocks, rediscover their voice, and transform their pain into meaning, powerful symbolism, and inspiration.

What makes my approach unique is the way I weave together my background as an artist, yoga teacher, and Buddhist practitioner. I view therapy as both a creative and grounded process, where we not only work through challenges but also discover the deeper life forces at work, strength in vulnerability, and the unique gifts within each person.

I’m most proud of helping clients transform struggles—whether it’s trauma, grief, anxiety, depression, or uncertainty—into opportunities for growth and self-discovery. My goal is to create a space where people feel truly seen (by another and themselves), and empowered to explore their authenticity.

What sets me apart is this holistic perspective: using an analytical approach that never separates the body, spirit, and imagination into the healing process. It’s about going on a journey with people and navigating their inner and outer worlds with greater clarity and balance, while embracing the richness of our own humanity.

What I love most about our city is the vibrant food scene (specifically the tacos!), endless creative energy, and the access to nature—beaches, hiking and being able to see where the mountains meet the sky is awe inspiring. The art, the culture, and the museums here keep me inspired.

What I like least? We have yet to really begin to resolve the issue of unhoused communities. It’s a complicated issue that needs a long and methodical resolution. Also, the traffic anxiety, the gun violence, and the overuse of the word “manifest.” I wouldn’t be surprised if the word “manifestor” was elevated to a job title.

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