My Journey to Authenticity

For as long as I can remember, I carried a quiet belief that something was fundamentally wrong with me. Beneath the surface, it shaped how I moved through the world — wrapped in shame, masked by perfectionism, and driven by a deep fear of being truly seen.

When I was thirteen, I went to summer camp — an experience that should have been joyful, but instead left me feeling isolated and overwhelmed. I was homesick and silently struggling, too ashamed of my emotions to let anyone in. Each night, I cried myself to sleep, hidden behind a brave face, unsure whether it was safe to be honest about how I felt.

Things didn't get easier when I returned home. Puberty brought a deep discomfort with my body, and I began secretly turning to dieting and control — trying to shape myself into something more "acceptable." I longed to feel like I belonged, like I was enough. I believed that if I could meet the world's expectations, maybe I would finally feel worthy within myself.

That longing stayed with me into adulthood, even as I pursued my Master's in Social Work. On the outside, I was achieving — checking all the boxes. But on the inside, I was anxious and disconnected. I kept striving, hoping that success would fill the emptiness, but the deeper truth was that I was still running from the parts of me I had never allowed to be seen.

Then, one morning, everything came to a halt. I woke up unable to lift my head — my neck had completely locked up. It was frightening, and deeply humbling. As I sought help to heal my body, I began to understand: this wasn't just physical pain. It was the weight of years of unexpressed emotion. The tension, the stiffness, the immobility — it was my body's way of telling the truth I hadn't yet spoken.

That moment cracked something open.

For the first time, I began to feel what I had long avoided — the grief, the shame, the fear, the anger. I didn't do it alone. I was held in a space of deep, unconditional love and presence. A space where I was safe to feel everything, without judgment. And in that sacred container, I began to heal.

Healing, I came to understand, isn't about fixing what's broken. It's about allowing. About meeting ourselves fully — even in the messy, painful places — with compassion. What I discovered was life-changing: when we give ourselves permission to feel, we unlock something essential. We reconnect with our truth. We remember our wholeness.

As I moved through this painful but profound transformation, a quiet knowing emerged: this journey wasn't just mine. I wasn't meant to walk it only for myself. I felt called to offer the kind of space I had been given — a space of tenderness, presence, and trust — to others who are seeking their way back to themselves.

Now, as a soul doula, I hold space for people moving through grief, burnout, anxiety, and emotional awakening. I guide individuals who feel unseen, unheard, or disconnected — and I support those who are successful on the outside but longing for something more real, more vibrant, and more aligned within.

My work is grounded in the wisdom I've lived: that true healing happens not when we are fixed, but when we are held — with gentleness, with love, and with the deep remembering that we were never broken to begin with.

This is the heart of what I offer: soul-deep presence, intuitive guidance, and the loving support that allows you to return to your own light.