At ACCESS GRACE, we focus in helping the whole family! Here, quality matters to us. We offer high quality, professional counseling & psychotherapy to individuals, families, couples, teams and groups in and out the surrounding areas. Our practice has been in business for a long time and since then we endeavor for quality at every point.

Our ACCESS GRACE personnel are goal oriented, effective, and creative. We desire to offer all families with quality Family Therapy in Georgia leading the way! We focus on children, adolescents, adults, and families who have been exposed to a strain occasion, who have suffered some type of trauma or are experiencing issues which harmfully crash healthy ways of behaving. We have exceptional rooms to assist you and your loved ones defeat the challenges of life.

COUPLE COUNSELING AND THERAPY

Looking for couple counseling and therapy? Couple counseling and therapy is important to deal with marital discomfort because: counseling helps couples take time out of their busy lives and come together to actually focus on them. The psychotherapist acts as a type of intermediary between the spouses and facilitates healthy and successful communication. For couple counseling and therapy we can be your one stop solution as our enthusiastic counselors provide friendly as well as skilled services with much dedication.

Married couples quickly find out that marriage isn’t as easy as they thought before, during and after their wedding ceremony. It needs uphill struggle and assurance. After the perfect honeymoon-period, couples often recognize that they are not as well-matched as they previously thought. Or they meet dilemmas which they never thought would be a problem. Or the couple is not capable to take care of their relationship by reason of things such as jobs and children consuming all their time. These difficulties are definitely not extraordinary and seeking the counsel of a marriage therapist may go a lengthy method towards strengthening and even saving the marital bond. 

As well, if you are ready to receive the highest possible level of care from your Marriage Counselor, Adolescent Counselor, Adult Individual Counselor or Child Counselor then give us a call today. Our Family Therapy in Georgia can help!

At ACCESS GRACE, we focus in helping the whole family! Here, quality matters to us. We offer high quality, professional counseling & psychotherapy to individuals, families, couples, teams and groups in and out the surrounding areas. Our practice has been in business for a long time and since then we endeavor for quality at every point.

Our ACCESS GRACE personnel are goal oriented, effective, and creative. We desire to offer all families with quality Family Therapy in Georgia leading the way! We focus on children, adolescents, adults, and families who have been exposed to a strain occasion, who have suffered some type of trauma or are experiencing issues which harmfully crash healthy ways of behaving. We have exceptional rooms to assist you and your loved ones defeat the challenges of life.

COUPLE COUNSELING AND THERAPY

Looking for couple counseling and therapy? Couple counseling and therapy is important to deal with marital discomfort because: counseling helps couples take time out of their busy lives and come together to actually focus on them. The psychotherapist acts as a type of intermediary between the spouses and facilitates healthy and successful communication. For couple counseling and therapy we can be your one stop solution as our enthusiastic counselors provide friendly as well as skilled services with much dedication.

Married couples quickly find out that marriage isn’t as easy as they thought before, during and after their wedding ceremony. It needs uphill struggle and assurance. After the perfect honeymoon-period, couples often recognize that they are not as well-matched as they previously thought. Or they meet dilemmas which they never thought would be a problem. Or the couple is not capable to take care of their relationship by reason of things such as jobs and children consuming all their time. These difficulties are definitely not extraordinary and seeking the counsel of a marriage therapist may go a lengthy method towards strengthening and even saving the marital bond. 

As well, if you are ready to receive the highest possible level of care from your Marriage Counselor, Adolescent Counselor, Adult Individual Counselor or Child Counselor then give us a call today. Our Family Therapy in Georgia can help!

Leading with the two legs of Biblical direction and experienced proven application, Access Grace (AG) purposes to enable superior ACCESS to the grace and supremacy of God with self, with others, at home, at work and in ministry. AG works to enhance life giving skills and bring HOPE into the redeeming work of God loves process of growth, maturation, healing and restoration of His people and to the community around us.

Today, a good number of different types of professionals available who offer psychotherapy, such as-psychiatrists, psychologists, licensed social workers, licensed professional counselors, licensed marriage and family therapists, psychiatric nurses, and others with specialized training in psychotherapy. Psychiatrists are as well trained in medicine and are able to recommend medications. Access Grace is also one of only a handful of facilities with nationally certified therapy personally trained to make our unique quality driven approach to therapy even more effective.

At Access Grace, we have been justified through faith; we have peace with our God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained ACCESS by faith into this grace in which we now stand.  And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.   We offer Psychotherapy in the United States with best yet much cost effective solution.

KNOW PSYCHOTHERAPY?

Psychotherapy is a way to help people with a wide range of psychological disorders and emotional difficulties. Psychiatric therapy can help get rid of or manage troubling symptoms so a human being can function healthier and can boost comfort and healing.

Problems helped by psychotherapy include difficulties in coping with way of life; the crash of suffering, medical sickness or failure, like the death of a loved one; and specific psychological disorders, like depression or anxiety. Psychotherapy may be used in combination with medication or other therapies. At AG, we offer different types of psychotherapy in Georgia and some types may work better with certain problems or issues.

 Besides, from the moment we make contact with you over the phone, to the first time we meet you, and through to our last end session, quality matters! We believe, it is about providing better-quality, skilled counseling services to Georgia.

Access Grace (AG) serves the group of people of North Georgia by offering quality Professional Counseling & Psychotherapy to individuals, families, couples, teams and groups.  With that in view AG works to build up imaginative and realistic alternatives to on a daily basis & work challenges.

 SEXUAL ADDICTION
​
Sexual addiction is a condition in which an individual cannot handle their sexual deeds. Determined sexual thoughts involve their ability to work, maintain relationships, and fulfill their daily activities. Sex Addicts Anonymous is a twelve-step program for people who want to stop their addictive sexual behavior. There also exists a group known as COSA, for those who have been impacted by others' sexual addiction. If you’re struggling with compelling sexual behaviors then you may previously have a good idea of what addiction entails.  
​

We at Access Grace (AG) seek to offer a professional, healthy, safe setting for Sexual Addiction Recovery USA where you can change, heal & grow. We help you reach your goals re-tooling your skills for better life quality and promote productive outcomes.  We want to enhance life-giving skills and bring hope into the advancing work of a healthy developmental life process.   You may be interested in healing and restoration.  You may need opportunity to get to the next level in life, work or relationship.

Our work involves a partnership with you where we attempt to labor together in the learning and trans-formational process. In doing so, perhaps, we may be more free and able to bring real hope and change to the world we live in and the in the community around us. Our desire and greatest joy is to see you living a life of wholeness and fulfillment.  If we cannot help maybe we can find the right resources that best fit your situation.  Give us a call, anyway, and we’ll see what may be possible!

Our Abuse Recovery counseling service is certified and licensed or is in the process of obtaining the high level they can achieve. We are consistently striving to be the best in the field. 

I grew up with idealistic missionary parents who wanted more than punch-a-clock and pay-the-mortgage normalcy. They pursued a ministry life abroad, but after I was diagnosed with leukemia as a child, we were left stateside and struggling financially. We moved a lot—Hawaii, then Nepal, then back to Hawaii, then New Mexico.

For most of my teen years, we lived in Albuquerque, and during that time, I began to resent the ways God allowed us to suffer. I began to think God was cruel, a scarce and mean God who looked the other way when we were in need. My parents gave me space and didn’t force me to go to church with them, but I knew they prayed that I would come to know Christ. My dad would often say, “I believe God has a call on your life, Alia.” But I wanted nothing to do with faith.
Everything changed in the middle of my junior year. My parents got another ministry job offer and moved us back to Hawaii.
When we arrived in Pahoa, my dad surveyed the house the ministry had provided for us. It was unlivable. The house had no plumbing and no interior walls, only a concrete slab pooling with puddles of mosquito-infested water. Heavy green mold scaled the cement ruins and the jungle loomed around the house, unruly vines breaking through shattered windowpanes. No one had flown to the Big Island to inspect the house or property for years, and it had become uninhabitable.
We lived in Nepal in the early ’80s in a dung-style hut, so we’d never be accused of being high maintenance, but this was ridiculous. The ministry agreed to pay half the rent for livable accommodations. But even a month after we moved in, we had no furniture and couldn’t afford to get any now that we had to pay partial rent. We had two lawn chairs in the living room and a futon pad on the ground. Despite our situation, my parents decided to stay and see what God would provide for us.
The rain in Pahoa fell in constant sheets, pounding on our metal roof like an assault. And I took it as just that: a personal attack. I sat on our back porch—a slab of concrete with a tin covering—listening to the rain pinging like rapid gunfire while I dragged hard on my cigarette. This was my personal hell.
Reconciling these years of poverty and pain with a loving and merciful God seemed impossible. I could not believe in a God who continually abandoned us. I hurt everywhere. I fit nowhere. Home wasn’t a place I could feel.
And yet, I met God there one night. Or God met me.
It had been raining for 42 days straight when I considered taking my own life. I had no transportation, no license, and no hopes of getting one anytime soon. I was miles away from civilization and as sober as I’d ever been.
In Albuquerque, I had learned to silence the torment I felt inside. I didn’t know I had bipolar disorder; I just knew there were times my skin tingled with restlessness, my limbs seemed possessed, and my feet tapped out a Morse code. I felt invincible, immortal, immune to hunger and thirst and the incessant demands to slow down, to sleep, to recharge. My mind was a colony of secrets and schemes. But it’s an unfortunate law of the universe that what goes up must come down.
That night in Hawaii, blind with tears, I started ransacking the bathroom medicine cabinet and rifling through drawers. I decided it was time to quiet that steady hum once and for all. I wanted the shadows to disappear and the voices to stop, and I believed that death was the only way.
My hand shook as I picked up the flimsy disposable razor. I held it over my skin, trying to build up the courage to make the deep cut. I had flirted with death before, but just enough to blow my hair back, just enough to make me feel the tiniest bit alive. In that moment of desperation, I cried out to God: I never asked to be born! I never asked for any of this!
Never did I imagine that God would answer me. But he did. I found myself silenced, barefoot and open palmed, splayed like an offering across the floor. I was ready to take my own life and instead found myself laid out by God—physically knocked to the floor and flooded with a peace that to this day, I cannot fully describe. I felt the resuscitation of grace.
After that night, however, I began to make excuses. Maybe God reveals himself to desperate girls on chipped linoleum floors in the middle of a monsoon and says, “You belong to me. I have loved you with an everlasting love. You are mine.” But that was all too much for me to fathom. I wanted something to explain away the very real and terrible possibility that God existed and that he wanted something from me. I thought perhaps it was my body’s response to all the stress hormones and my legs had just given out. But even with all of my justifications, I couldn’t deny that I felt something I had never felt before. I felt God.
My parents had given me a Bible I never used and instead wedged under a tiny garage-sale table in my room to make the legs even. I pulled it out and began to read it at night behind my locked door. I didn’t want my parents to know. I didn’t want my dad to say, “I knew God had a call on your life, Alia Joy.” I didn’t want any spiritual I-told-you-so.
My bed was a rolled-out length of eggshell foam—the kind you put on a real mattress (should you actually have a mattress)—and not thick enough to keep my hips from falling asleep and aching through the night. As I read my Bible, I was confronted with questions and fears. I’d lie in the dark with God and whisper prayers into the void, hoping someone was there answering me back. Like Jacob wrestling with God through the night, this grappling changed my identity and renamed me.
In the Book of Genesis, when Jacob first prays for protection and deliverance from Esau, he prays to the God of his father Abraham and his father Isaac. After he wrestles with God and his prayers are answered, Jacob erects an altar with his new name, Israel. He names it El-Elohe-Israel, which means “God, the God of Israel.”
When I wrestled with God, he brought me to that same place of weakness. This weakness didn’t leave me more vulnerable before my enemies, real or imagined. Instead, it taught me that, even though we all walk with unsteady feet, we can rely on the God of our fathers and more than that, on the God who reveals himself directly to us, a God unmasked, a God who lets us grab hold of him in the darkness. In these times of wrestling, we might find ourselves transformed. We might feel the touch of God dislocating our hip as dawn breaks. God might take us to the ground.
I am not healed in the ways one might imagine. I still have bipolar disorder. Sometimes I still struggle with suicidal ideation. I take antipsychotic meds and antidepressants to help keep me alive. These, too, are ways that God meets me on the mat, meets me in the darkness, and lets me grab hold of him.
To this day, I carry the bruises of those restless nights, of a too-thin mat and a paralysis so severe I could only be laid at the feet of Jesus. Sometimes I remember that whisper-thin foam of my bed and the ache in my hips as I wrestled with God. I think of my parents choosing to stay in Hawaii and wait on the Lord. I thank God for their obedience, for helping bear witness to the goodness of God in that horrible rental where I first believed.
I came back to life in that home that wasn’t a home. It was the place where I met Jesus and the place where I learned that I’d always been called.

I wanted nothing to do with faith. That changed the night I tried to take my own life.

I grew up with idealistic missionary parents who wanted more than punch-a-clock and pay-the-mortgage normalcy. They pursued a ministry life abroad, but after I was diagnosed with leukemia as a child, we were left stateside and struggling financially. We moved a lot—Hawaii, then Nepal, then back to Hawaii, then New Mexico.

For most of my teen years, we lived in Albuquerque, and during that time, I began to resent the ways God allowed us to suffer. I began to think God was cruel, a scarce and mean God who looked the other way when we were in need. My parents gave me space and didn’t force me to go to church with them, but I knew they prayed that I would come to know Christ. My dad would often say, “I believe God has a call on your life, Alia.” But I wanted nothing to do with faith.

Everything changed in the middle of my junior year. My parents got another ministry job offer and moved us back to Hawaii.
When we arrived in Pahoa, my dad surveyed the house the ministry had provided for us. It was unlivable. The house had no plumbing and no interior walls, only a concrete slab pooling with puddles of mosquito-infested water. Heavy green mold scaled the cement ruins and the jungle loomed around the house, unruly vines breaking through shattered windowpanes. No one had flown to the Big Island to inspect the house or property for years, and it had become uninhabitable.

We lived in Nepal in the early ’80s in a dung-style hut, so we’d never be accused of being high maintenance, but this was ridiculous. The ministry agreed to pay half the rent for livable accommodations. But even a month after we moved in, we had no furniture and couldn’t afford to get any now that we had to pay partial rent. We had two lawn chairs in the living room and a futon pad on the ground. Despite our situation, my parents decided to stay and see what God would provide for us.
The rain in Pahoa fell in constant sheets, pounding on our metal roof like an assault. And I took it as just that: a personal attack. I sat on our back porch—a slab of concrete with a tin covering—listening to the rain pinging like rapid gunfire while I dragged hard on my cigarette. This was my personal hell.

Reconciling these years of poverty and pain with a loving and merciful God seemed impossible. I could not believe in a God who continually abandoned us. I hurt everywhere. I fit nowhere. Home wasn’t a place I could feel.
And yet, I met God there one night. Or God met me.

It had been raining for 42 days straight when I considered taking my own life. I had no transportation, no license, and no hopes of getting one anytime soon. I was miles away from civilization and as sober as I’d ever been.

In Albuquerque, I had learned to silence the torment I felt inside. I didn’t know I had bipolar disorder; I just knew there were times my skin tingled with restlessness, my limbs seemed possessed, and my feet tapped out a Morse code. I felt invincible, immortal, immune to hunger and thirst and the incessant demands to slow down, to sleep, to recharge. My mind was a colony of secrets and schemes. But it’s an unfortunate law of the universe that what goes up must come down.

That night in Hawaii, blind with tears, I started ransacking the bathroom medicine cabinet and rifling through drawers. I decided it was time to quiet that steady hum once and for all. I wanted the shadows to disappear and the voices to stop, and I believed that death was the only way.

My hand shook as I picked up the flimsy disposable razor. I held it over my skin, trying to build up the courage to make the deep cut. I had flirted with death before, but just enough to blow my hair back, just enough to make me feel the tiniest bit alive. In that moment of desperation, I cried out to God: I never asked to be born! I never asked for any of this!

Never did I imagine that God would answer me. But he did. I found myself silenced, barefoot and open palmed, splayed like an offering across the floor. I was ready to take my own life and instead found myself laid out by God—physically knocked to the floor and flooded with a peace that to this day, I cannot fully describe. I felt the resuscitation of grace.

After that night, however, I began to make excuses. Maybe God reveals himself to desperate girls on chipped linoleum floors in the middle of a monsoon and says, “You belong to me. I have loved you with an everlasting love. You are mine.” But that was all too much for me to fathom. I wanted something to explain away the very real and terrible possibility that God existed and that he wanted something from me. I thought perhaps it was my body’s response to all the stress hormones and my legs had just given out. But even with all of my justifications, I couldn’t deny that I felt something I had never felt before. I felt God.
My parents had given me a Bible I never used and instead wedged under a tiny garage-sale table in my room to make the legs even. I pulled it out and began to read it at night behind my locked door. I didn’t want my parents to know. I didn’t want my dad to say, “I knew God had a call on your life, Alia Joy.” I didn’t want any spiritual I-told-you-so.

My bed was a rolled-out length of eggshell foam—the kind you put on a real mattress (should you actually have a mattress)—and not thick enough to keep my hips from falling asleep and aching through the night. As I read my Bible, I was confronted with questions and fears. I’d lie in the dark with God and whisper prayers into the void, hoping someone was there answering me back. Like Jacob wrestling with God through the night, this grappling changed my identity and renamed me.

In the Book of Genesis, when Jacob first prays for protection and deliverance from Esau, he prays to the God of his father Abraham and his father Isaac. After he wrestles with God and his prayers are answered, Jacob erects an altar with his new name, Israel. He names it El-Elohe-Israel, which means “God, the God of Israel.”

When I wrestled with God, he brought me to that same place of weakness. This weakness didn’t leave me more vulnerable before my enemies, real or imagined. Instead, it taught me that, even though we all walk with unsteady feet, we can rely on the God of our fathers and more than that, on the God who reveals himself directly to us, a God unmasked, a God who lets us grab hold of him in the darkness. In these times of wrestling, we might find ourselves transformed. We might feel the touch of God dislocating our hip as dawn breaks. God might take us to the ground.

I am not healed in the ways one might imagine. I still have bipolar disorder. Sometimes I still struggle with suicidal ideation. I take antipsychotic meds and antidepressants to help keep me alive. These, too, are ways that God meets me on the mat, meets me in the darkness, and lets me grab hold of him.

To this day, I carry the bruises of those restless nights, of a too-thin mat and a paralysis so severe I could only be laid at the feet of Jesus. Sometimes I remember that whisper-thin foam of my bed and the ache in my hips as I wrestled with God. I think of my parents choosing to stay in Hawaii and wait on the Lord. I thank God for their obedience, for helping bear witness to the goodness of God in that horrible rental where I first believed.
​
I came back to life in that home that wasn’t a home. It was the place where I met Jesus and the place where I learned that I’d always been called.