I walked through the dark, one step at a time. I let myself unravel, I faced the shame, the fear, the “too muchness.” I stopped performing resilience and started listening, not just with my ears, but with my body. I learned how to regulate my nervous system, how to feel again, how to hold myself in a way no one ever had.

And slowly, something began to return. Not because I learned it. Because I remembered it.

I began to see the world and myself differently. Through image, through symbol, through soul.
My neurodivergence, once a source of shame became the very thing that showed me how to work.
Not through facts, but through felt sense, not through theory, but through experience.

This is the work I now do with women, not because I’ve arrived, but because I know the terrain.
I know what it is to feel broken while everyone sees you as strong.
To want more but not know how to ask.
To keep giving even when you're empty.
To shrink in rooms that don’t see you.
To believe your sensitivity is a flaw.
To feel like an imposter in your own life.

And I know in my bones that it can change.

About

I didn’t always know what I needed. For a long time, I didn’t even know to ask.

I knew how to care, I knew how to attune, I knew what people needed, often before they did  and I shaped myself around that knowing. I read the room, I kept the peace, I worked hard to be kind, capable, competent and I was. But underneath, I was exhausted, not just tired unseen.

That pattern of over giving, of undercharging, of being the one who holds everything together it felt like love, it felt like responsibility, but what it really was… was survival. Somewhere along the way, like so many of us, I learned that love must be earned, worth must be proven, and needs are dangerous. So I stopped having any.

Maybe that sounds familiar to you, maybe you’ve done the work, therapy, books, courses and still something loops. You keep showing up, but you’re still holding your breath. That was me, too, until my body said no. I was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation, told I’d need to be on medication for life, that I couldn’t exercise, that I had to manage my limitations. But what no one asked was what was really happening, what I was holding, what I hadn’t said, what I hadn’t felt.

I knew it wasn’t just my heart, it was my life and I decided to trust my body, not fear it. That decision changed everything.