Every journey needs a guide, or in the words of Ram Dass,

“We’re all just walking each other home.”

In 2019, driven by those same curiosities from my youth, I began graduate school to become a therapist. I also began my first course of treatment as a somatic therapy client. Both of these experiences were challenging initiations that brought me deep into my body and face to face with a lifetime of untended pain.

In the wake of my pain, I turned toward the largest body I could find to hold me: the Earth. The natural world gave me permission to breathe and soften. It gave me a place to tend to my wounds and put down all of my life’s shoulds: who I should be, how I should feel, what I should be doing. In doing so, I was able to create more space inside myself within which I could finally listen. Slowly, slowly I learned how to feel my feelings. And, of course, life didn’t stop happening— to me and for me. As my old pain re- surfaced, so did my most fierce protectors and habitual patterns.

In 2022, following my heart’s call, I spent two months alone in the Costa Rican jungle. This time was ripe with both inner and outer exploration. For the first time in my life, as I swam in the Caribbean Sea where my ancestors once swam, I felt that I truly belonged. I grieved deeply for my past, my younger selves, and for all of the ways I had been hurt, neglected, or abandoned- especially by myself. In a ceremony on the beach, I made a promise to myself: I may get lost, but I’ll always come back. I’ll always come home. I’ll always do my best to be here, for myself and with myself.

It is now 2026 and I am proud to say that, through my life’s changes and challenges, I have kept this promise.

I’ve always been incredibly sensitive and insatiably curious. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to understand what it means to be alive. My path into the wild began with these musings, which emerged from my chaotic childhood: Why are we here? Why does everything change? Why do people hurt each other?

I was raised by caregivers who were deeply traumatized and who, for this reason, did not have the capacity or skills to support me emotionally. Of course, they did the best they could. Nevertheless, because they could not attune to me, I learned to minimize and repress my emotions. I spent most of my early life trying to be a “good girl” — small, quiet, without feelings or needs of my own. I learned that I could find safety, validation, and belonging by taking care of others. At first, that meant caretaking my caregivers; later, my siblings, friends, and lovers. This early conditioning set me up for decades of dissociation, disconnection, lopsided relationships, co-dependency, and, beneath the surface, loneliness and rage. Silenced by shame, I carried all of this alone. It wasn’t until my mid- 20s that I began telling anyone about what had happened in my childhood.

There is a world of details, plot points, and inner work that unfolded between 2022 and 2026. Menstrual cycle exploration, emergent attachment wounds, herbal studies, relational struggles, community- building, expressing needs, taking up space, plant medicine journeys, nervous system expansion, solo travel, ancestral healing, fierce femininity, disconnection and reconnection, parental illness, grief, life... death. But let’s make a long story short(er). As I have continued on my own tender, cyclical path toward healing, I have come to understand that, just like the ants and the jungle and the rain, I have an important gift to offer. This offering- to gently guide others back into their own inner wild- is borne of my own alchemized pain. It is also borne of my unwavering love for humanity and the natural world.

My work is an embodiment of my reverence for this planet and all who wander through its great mysteries. All who, like me, are still finding their way home.

To learn more about how I work, visit here.