Origin Story
I was raised between two wild worlds: the Mojave Desert and the end of a dirt road in Northern Michigan. That split terrain—dry and cracked, lush and damp—taught my sisters and me how to survive and listen. My parents raised us to know the land: gardening, canning, stacking wood, tending animals. We learned the old ways early—resilience woven with reverence.
I remember eating juicy desert tendrils from a neighbor’s yard after school, and gathering morels, fiddleheads, and wild berries with my father in the northern woods. He tried to teach me the names of every tree. My paternal grandmother was a plant whisperer. She taught me to listen to the green world’s sacred language—not with my ears, but with my whole being.
When I became a mother, I drew deeply from this well of embodied knowledge and soulful, practical living. It was in the earth, the breath, and the wild that I first found liberation. Herbalism became my gateway—accessible, ancestral, growing freely in ditches and backyards, held in borrowed books and the stories of wise women who shared without reservation. I carry this tradition with deep gratitude for my lineage.
In 2001, as a young single mother, I enrolled in massage therapy school—answering an inner call to serve in a way that aligned with my instinctual approach to healing. Years later, I became a Master Bodyworker and continued on to study Holistic Health Counseling, deepening my ability to walk with others as they made informed, intuitive choices for their bodies and lives.
In 2014, I lost my only child. I mourned. I wailed. I keened. For years.
And then I searched for the parts of me left behind in the wreckage. I found her.
I pulled her close.
And I began to build a life that could carry this grief—not as a burden, but as a truth. One sturdy enough to hold the weight of forever, and soft enough to remain open to love, to joy, to life.
This grief remade me.
It seeded me.
It is from this broken-open, deeply-rooted place that I met Somatics and Breathwork—and nothing has been the same since.
These practices changed not only my healing, but my relationship to the body, to the earth, to time, to aliveness.
I am an eternal student.
I till the soil of embodiment and (w)holiness—for myself, and for all beings.
My reverence for Gaia, Pachamama, Home Base, The Mother Ship is not theoretical. It is lived. Felt. Known.
Sometimes my work happens in classrooms or online spaces.
Sometimes it happens in forests, in meadows, at kitchen tables, or kneeling at the edge of my own Becoming.
My most sacred labor, again and again, has been birthed within my own body—where I drop the story, meet what’s here, and begin again.
Right now.
And now.
And again, now.
I do not believe healing is linear. And I do not believe it is my souls sole purpose.
I believe my purpose is presence.
Responsibility.
Devotion.
Reclamation.
Sovereignty.
My path now is clear: to support women in returning to their bodies, their power, and their wholeness.
To shift the narrative from self-care as survival to collective care as liberation.
To meet this aching world with offerings rooted in the heart and centered in the body.
We have been conditioned to forget. To perform. To stay small.
But we are not here to be pleasing.
We are here to be free.
Let us unlearn together.
Let us rise—tender, fierce, rooted, sovereign.
The world needs our sacred way of showing up.
Now more than ever.
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