I spent decades learning how to hold myself.

From restoring Ming dynasty antiques to studying colour therapy, massage, and past life healing, I was always looking beneath the surface, trying to remember what I already knew, that the body holds memory, that healing isn’t linear, that sensitivity is not a weakness, it’s a form of perception.

I trained in Compassionate Inquiry with Dr. Gabor Maté. I learned how trauma lives in the body and how we adapt to survive the loss of attunement. I learned how women, especially neurodivergent, sensitive women abandon themselves in plain sight and I learned how to come back.

Now, I walk alongside women who are remembering their own bigness. Women with big dreams, big visions, and a lifetime of learned self-rejection. Women who have been told they’re too much or not enough. Women who have spent years holding others and are finally ready to be held themselves.

My work is gentle and deep. We don’t override the parts of you that sabotage or freeze, we listen to them, we meet them, we honour your nervous system, your capacity, and the younger parts of you that were never seen. We work with the body, with patterns, with ancestry, with the earth and slowly, you start to experience what it feels like to be enough just as you are.

This isn’t coaching in the traditional sense, this is relational healing. A return to the self you’ve always been.

You’ve probably spent most of your life focused on other people. You know how to care. You know what people need, often before they do. That’s not just empathy. It’s survival intelligence. You learned early how to read a room, how to keep others regulated because no one was doing that for you.

It became your default: being the one who knows, helps, supports. And it worked. You were praised for being kind, responsible, emotionally intelligent. But at some point, you lost yourself in it. You forgot your own needs, you stopped trusting your inner voice, you’re exhausted and still showing up for everyone else.

I know this pattern because I’ve lived it. I also know it can shift.

There’s a version of me you wouldn’t have recognised, quiet, hyperaware, never quite fitting in. I was praised for being helpful and capable, but underneath, I carried the belief that I had to earn my place by shrinking, I thought I was too much, too sensitive, too strange. In truth, I was just deeply attuned to a world that didn’t know how to hold me.