I know what it’s like to fall apart and to rebuild yourself, piece by peice. I’m a human who knows what it means to struggle and to heal.

My path into this work wasn’t linear. It was born from personal experience — real, raw, and at times, incredibly painful. I’ve walked through grief, heartbreak, confusion, and transformation — and these moments have helped shape not only who I am, but how I hold space for others.

I lost my father in my final year of university — a loss that cracked something open in me. In the years that followed, I experienced a series of losses: family, friends, and relationships that once felt permanent. Grief became a familiar companion, but it also taught me the depth of love, the importance of presence, and the value of truly seeing and honoring emotions — mine and others’.

I’ve known what it’s like to feel misunderstood. Growing up, I often felt out of place — different, sensitive, and wired a little differently. I was bullied for things that made me me. For a long time, I didn’t have the language to understand my experiences, especially as I navigated life with undiagnosed ADHD symptoms. That ongoing self-discovery has brought me both compassion and clarity, and a deep understanding of how the mind and body speak to one another.

I’ve struggled with body image and self-worth from a very young age — wrestling with fluctuating weight, confidence, and the constant noise of external expectations. Financial instability and difficulty functioning “normally” were also part of my story, particularly during times when it felt like the world was too heavy to carry.

My mother’s battle with cancer — on and off for over 12 years — added another layer of complexity. Watching someone you love navigate illness with resilience and grace taught me so much about courage, vulnerability, and the sacredness of time.

These life experiences have deeply informed the way I work with others. They’ve taught me that healing is never linear — that it ebbs and flows, that it asks us to be brave, to feel what’s uncomfortable, and to trust the process.

Even now, these stories — these traumas — still arise. And when they do, I try to meet them with curiosity instead of fear. They offer me new invitations: to go deeper within, to feel , reflect, and to filter what no longer belongs.

I’ve learned that healing isn’t about “fixing” — it’s about remembering who we are beneath the layers of pain, expectation, and survival. My mission is to help others do just that — This is the work I live. And it’s the work I offer — a space where your story is safe, your mind & body are honored, and your healing is your own.