I didn’t find this work.
I was born into it.
And then I had to lose the ground beneath me to finally make it my own.
My mother called me at 3am.
I heard it in her voice before I understood what was happening.
Seven days later, my father was gone too.
I was an only child, standing in the house where I had grown up, suddenly alone in a way I had never known.
My whole life, I had moved through the world with my parents at my back.
Somewhere beneath everything I knew, I believed that as long as they were alive, I was safe.
The ground did not hold.
I was raised inside this world.
My mother was a Feldenkrais practitioner, aromatherapist, and channel.
My father was a truck driver, Vietnam veteran, and practitioner of Tai Chi and Qi Gong. He carried an extraordinary sensitivity to the world around him.
They questioned what went into our bodies.
They understood the natural world as medicine.
They taught me, long before I had language for it, that life was larger and stranger than what could be seen.
I didn’t discover holistic living.
I grew up inside it.
But for years, I gathered that knowing in pieces.
Training after training.
Framework after framework.
What I had not yet done was make it fully mine.
I had language.
I had tools.
I had spent years learning how to hold space for others.
But knowledge is not the same as embodiment.
Grief changed that.
I had already known loss through stillbirth, the deaths of friends and mentors, and sitting beside my daughter through the death of her childhood best friend.
Then my parents died seven days apart.
Their deaths didn’t only take my parents from me.
They dismantled my entire framework for safety
Everything I had absorbed about who I was supposed to be, how I was supposed to grieve, and what I was supposed to do next rose to the surface.
So I began working with what was there.
One thing at a time.
As consciously as I was able.
I followed what kept opening.
Human Design gave me language for the way I move through the world.
The Akashic Records opened new ways of understanding memory and the unseen.
Yoga Nidra helped my nervous system learn rest.
Soul Art gave form to what words could not hold.
Soul Shamanism deepened my relationship with ritual, embodiment, and mystery.
Each doorway changed the way I experienced the next.
That is still happening.
I don’t believe the work ends.
I’m not teaching from the other side of a completed journey.
I’m living a human life.
I have three children, a marriage, a changing body, a house full of animals, bills, unfinished tasks, and a family that is still healing.
I forget things.
I get overwhelmed.
I do not always sleep well.
I nap.
I am not a finished product.
I am a woman who decided, in the middle of the unraveling rather than after it, to stay curious, keep expressing, and live as consciously as I could.
That decision built everything you see here.
The training gave me language.
Life made me use it.
I hold a BA in Transformative Learning and Integral Studies from California Institute of Integral Studies and an MA in Expressive Arts Therapy — Intermodal — from Lesley University.
My additional study and training include:
Musical Theatre
Holistic Health Counseling
EFT and TFT
Meditation and Yoga Nidra
Soul Art
The Akashic Records
Soul Shamanism
Human Design
But what I bring into the room with you is not the list.
It is what happened between the trainings.
In grief.
In motherhood.
In stillbirth.
In the 3am phone call.
In the moments when nothing I had learned could make the experience disappear.
I lived my way through it as consciously as I could.
And I kept expressing it.
That is the heart of my work..
I built what I needed and could not find.
I needed a place where grief could be held mythically.
A world large enough to contain loss, joy, memory, desire, childhood, ancestry, creativity, identity, and possibility.
The Midnight Carnival became that world.
Written in thirty days at the end of 2025, it grew from years of grief, art, spiritual inquiry, memory, and the decision to let my own expression become part of the way I healed.
The book left me with a question.
Now that you remember — how will you show up?
The Remembering grew from that question.
A living community and body of work where insight is not the endpoint.
Where we practice, create, question, witness, experiment, and return.
Again and again.
I built this for you.
For the woman who is tired of always being the one who holds space.
For the woman moving through grief who senses that loss has opened an unexpected door.
For the woman who feels the ache of a life not yet fully inhabited.
For the woman who does not need another person telling her who to become.
She needs room to hear herself.
I’m not here to stand above you with answers.
I’m here to walk beside you with everything I’ve studied, everything I’ve lived, and the ongoing, imperfect experiment of my own becoming.
Come in.
There is room for all of you.
You don’t have to arrive finished.
You only have to arrive.