About me

I know what it feels like to carry grief that doesn’t have a name.
To miss not only what happened—but what never did.
The innocence lost too soon.
The memories that never formed.
The woman I could have been, had trauma not taken root so early.

There were nights I fell to my knees, aching for a way back to myself.
Not to who I was before—but to something deeper.
A voice that had gone quiet. A spirit that had fractured.
And slowly, breath by breath, it returned.

Trauma isn’t always loud.
It often moves like mist—unseen, but shaping everything.
I spent years navigating that mist, learning how to feel again, to breathe again, to belong in my own body.

Now, after nearly two decades of healing and remembering, I’ve made it my purpose to hold space for others on their path.
Because healing isn’t meant to be done alone.
We need community. We need safety. We need real tools—and people who understand.

If you’re reading this and feel that quiet longing…
You’re not alone.
Healing is possible.
Joy still lives on the other side of pain.

And I’d be honored to walk beside you.